


The Digits on my Servos

by RainbowRocky



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Awkward Kissing, Blow Jobs, Bolt-Bats (Transformers), Canon-Typical Violence, Clubbing, Drunken Kissing, EM Fields, Enthusiastic Consent, Frustrating Medics, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Gore, Optimus the All Knowing, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prisoner of War, Ratchet is Bad at Feelings, Reunions, Scraplets (Transformers), Sex In A Cave, Slow Burn, Spike Modifications (Transformers), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valve Fingering (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRocky/pseuds/RainbowRocky
Summary: In a tumultuous war, two unlikely sparks cross paths again and again. Some circumstances are more favorable than others, but each happenstance leads to a connection that lasts a lifetime. Or does it?A story in which one mech inspires another with his youthful light and makes the slog of war seem a little less dark. Ratchet would do anything to keep that light shining, even if it means betrayal to all he holds dear.
Relationships: Ratchet/Wheeljack, implied past Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Comments: 33
Kudos: 63





	1. Instantaneous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And who might you be?”
> 
> “Wheeljack, at your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, welcome to The Digits on my Servos! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. I started it in January last year and finished it around April, and have been sitting on it for about a year… and now I bring it to you! I also want to take the time to dedicate this fic to my best friend Faith, who dutifully beta read and edited my fic despite not knowing anything about Transformers. She’s the true MVP!
> 
> P.S. I always try to find a song that pairs well with each chapter so if you want I’d give a listen to Everything has Changed by Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran while you read. You can find the official fanfic playlist on Spotify or Youtube, just look up Digits on my Servos. I tried to link it in but I couldn't get it to work ;-;

It had been several metacycles since the war had started and Ratchet was tired. He had been fighting and struggling to save lives since long before the war, being an already well accomplished medic. But with the war came a special brand of suffering, and for that he was tired. Back then it was just politics. Back then Megatron was considered an _ally_ , even if Ratchet was less than eager to accept it.

But now… well, now Megatron was not the civil rights leader he once was. Now he was an evil warlord, with the line between the struggle for equality and world domination long since crossed. Cybertron was a mess with no easy fix in sight. It irked Ratchet to think that he had once bought into the speeches of the former gladiator. It irked everyone of course, but Ratchet took it more personally since he, Optimus, and Megatron had all been friends at the time.

Ratchet wasn’t sure why now of all times thoughts of the past invaded his processor. He stared down at the schematics for a new medical scanner, one he needed to request someone from the engineering corps build for him. After the last Decepticon ambush, his entire medbay had to be evacuated with no time to collect the supplies he needed. He had to make due with what they could scrounge up from the leftovers of the other nearby regiments. Just another solar in the life of a field medic in the midst of the war for Cybertron. Nothing new. 

His vents whirred with the stress of the situation. Without a proper med scanner Ratchet could not tend to his patients to the best of his ability. His eons of experience had been enough to get him so far, but there wasn’t a replacement for such a vital tool.

Ratchet sent a comm to the chief engineer of his regiment putting in a request for a new med scanner, attaching the schematics file to his message. It wouldn’t be half a decacycle until he heard a response. It would have irked the medical officer given any other situation but after hearing that one of the younger mechs on the engineering team accidentally triggered an explosive while testing an unauthorized weapons upgrade, he understood why it took so long. He may or may not have sent a begrudging comm to Erector anyways complaining that he needed to get a grip on his team before they blew up the entire base. 

“Building me a med scanner is more important than any weapons upgrade. There will be no Autobots to use it if I can’t heal them properly,” Ratchet explained.

“Alright Ratchet,” the civil engineer sighed across the comm link. It was a common occurrence for the bot to take the medic’s complaints for supplies. “I’ll get someone over there with the things you need.”

A quick thanks was delivered and Ratchet awaited for whoever that someone would be. He was less than impressed when the youngest engineering bot he had ever seen waltzed into his medbay. The white, grey, and green mech with distinct helm finials was barely older than a sparkling.

“And who might you be?”

“Wheeljack, at your service.” With a flourish of his servos the bot bowed before Ratchet, earning a raised optic ridge in return. His helm finials glowed blue with each word. “I heard you needed my help building yourself a medical scanner.”

“Hah!” Ratchet couldn’t help the loud mocking laugh that escaped his intake. “Help from you? You’re barely past your Alpha stage. I need a more experienced engineer. The intricacies of a medical scanner are far beyond your capabilities, I’m sure.” The med bot rolled his eyes before waving him off. The young mech bristled at the demeaning tone that spiked Ratchet’s words, his plating shifting defensively. His optics narrowed at the servo waving him away.

“I can assure you, I am more than capable of building your missing tool. I looked over the schematics before I came here, it seems simple enough.”

“No no, it’s not simple. If it were simple, I would have built one myself already.” Ratchet shook his helm and turned to his lab computer to pull up his communication line with Erector. How dare he, sending a greenie to assist him in the construction of vital lab equipment. Does he not understand the direness of the situation? It made Ratchet’s circuites flare as to him it felt like the chief engineer was mocking him and the situation. “The nerve,” he grumbled to himself, messaging a nasty gram to the mech.

“Sorry Ratchet, he’s all I can spare for a project outside the department,” Erector answered, much to the medic’s chagrin. He didn’t bother replying.

“If it weren’t then would I have made this already?” The sound of something slamming on his examination table made Ratchet look up from the screen with a glare. His optics flared when they landed on bits of alloy and circuitry.

“Sorry, got a little excited there.” There was no apology in the younger bot’s tone as they both stared down at the shattered remains of the beginnings of an actual med scanner.

“Wheeljack, I need that!” The medic holds back a growl and ex-vents deeply. “Perhaps I… underestimated you. Or not, seeing as you so quickly broke it.”

“It’s not broken,” Wheeljack snaps, “Wasn’t even built in the first place. Now, are you gonna let me help or not?” Ratchet grinded his dentae at the self assured smirk flitting across the mech’s face plate. Wheeljack seemed well aware of their shortage of engineers and knew Ratchet was stuck with him if he wanted the scanner.

“I suppose, but if you so much as step out of line Erector will be hearing about it.”

The young mech didn’t seem all too concerned. He crossed his arms over his chest plate and shrugged. “What else is new?”

Ratchet grumbled his agitation under his breath as he guided his temporary helper into the back of the medbay where his work station was set up. Wheeljack was surprised to see all the tools he needed to weld and wire the instrument together.

“I have to make due on my own most of the time. With that recent ambush I lost all my supplies and needed to improvise. There aren’t a whole lot of spare engineers to help me,” Ratchet admitted under the bot’s questioning gaze. They were both well aware that the Autobot weapons program required the expertise more. “But something like this is too complicated even for me, and far too important to be missing.”

“What’s a med scanner do anyways? If I’m gonna code it I need to know.”

“You don’t know what it-” Ratchet groans in agitation, pinching the space between his optical ridges. “Of course you don’t, why would you? You’ve never needed to see one before, have you?” Wheeljack shook his head in confirmation.

“First time ever being in a medbay, actually,” he admitted.

Wouldn’t that be nice, Ratchet thought to himself. Having yet to see the turmoil and devastation this war could truly cause on bots. Having yet to feel it.

“How old are you?”

“You were right about my just being an Alpha unit. I graduated from my primary programming a couple stellar cycles ago.” The mech pulled up the schematics Ratchet had sent out a decacycle before on his data pad as he spoke. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to build things though. I promise I was at the top of my class.”

“That’s a bit different than learning in the field.” The first solars of war as a medic sent shivers down his spinal strut. “Trust me, I would know.” Wheeljack nodded in agreement as he set to work on welding together pieces of alloy for the shell of the tool. “Anyways, back to your earlier question, a medical scanner is a device that gives me all the vital signs I need about a bot. I scan them and it reads to me their sparkbeat, energon levels, injuries they’ve sustained, that sort of thing.’

‘I’ve had to go decacycles without one, only using my medical expertise and what data I can gather from a medical port connection. Ironhide passed out on me the other day because he lost too much energon before coming in and didn’t tell me.” That pulled a laugh from the engineer, though Ratchet thought it was quite the opposite of amusing. “It is not a matter to take lightly,” he growled, optic ridges folding into a glare.

“Nah, I get it doc. Just… picturing a big mech like that getting an audialful from you is an interesting mental image is all. You’re kinda notorious for that sorta thing over in engineering.”

“Please do not call me doc. My name is Ratchet.” The bot decided to ignore the rest of Wheeljack’s statement.

“Ratchet, then.”

Ratchet did not have time to give much attention to the engineer after their initial meeting. The solar cycles that followed were filled with an influx of Autobots needing repairs. A Decepticon outpost had been found and their regiment had been assigned with the task of taking it down. Wheeljack occasionally commed him with questions but most were answered by the schematics in the database. The younger bot preferred to work in his own lab space instead of Ratchet’s, which Ratchet was more than happy with. The less in his way when he was performing his duties, the better.

Another decacycle went by before Wheeljack returned with a newly built medical scanner.

“By the Allspark!” Ratchet could not help the grin that spread across his face plate as he took the servoheld device from the young engineer. “That was much faster than I expected. Thank y-” Wheeljack cut him off with a wave of his servo before he could finish his thanks.

“Don’t thank me yet, doc. We gotta test it before you say anything. I… made a few alterations.” A crooked grin followed Wheeljack’s words.

"You did what?!” Ratchet burst before he could help himself, his grin easily turning down into his usual frustrated scowl. “I did not permit this. You were supposed to follow the schematics as I stated several times.” Realization clicked in Ratchet’s processor after a moment. This must have been the bot to cause that explosion last decacycle! Would Erector be getting an audialful tonight after allowing this chaotic miscreant to work on precious medical supplies… “And my name is not doc!”

“Yeah, but remember when you were complaining about not being able to actually see the x-rays on the screen, just the data readings? Well I gave it a higher grade graphics card and a camera reader instead of the usual sensor.” His crooked grin broadened as Ratchet’s optics widened in surprise. “I also widened the scanning beam so you can get a full body image of even the big guys like Ironhide.” 

“Well… I don’t really…” Caught off guard, Ratchet’s optics widened in surprise and he stepped away from Wheeljack. His optics landed on the small trinket in his servo, turning over what the younger bot had said in his processor. “I suppose we’ll have to test it out and see before I extend my thanks to this… adjustment... as well.”

“Let me know how it goes. I’ll go ahead and say you’re wel-” It was Ratchet’s turn to interrupt Wheeljack this time.

“Oh no, you’re not getting away from me that easy. Get onto the examination table, I’ll be testing this on you before I endanger any of my patients with your medling.” The medic grabbed Wheeljack by the shoulder to keep him from slipping out the door and turned him in the opposite direction. It was the other bot’s turn to groan in frustration.

“Fine, but purely to see the look on your face when I’ve impressed the aft plate off of you.”

“We’ll see.”

Once Wheeljack was laid out on the table Ratchet turned the device on. Despite the excitement filling his spark at the updated screen graphics that popped up he kept a neutral expression. He didn’t know if it worked yet, best wait for that. The menu appeared to have all the same settings, much to his approval. Ratchet didn’t want everything to be completely different; he was a mech of simplicity.

“You can always tinker with it if you want,” Wheeljack piped up from his spot on the table. “I made it easy for you. After seeing your set up back there,” he stated as he nodded towards the back of the medbay, “...I figured you would enjoy that. Coding isn’t hard, I can show you.”

“Hmm.” Ratchet gave the younger bot a weary look.

He announced the beginning of the procedure and tapped the button at the center of the screen that read “scan” in bright, bold letters. A ray of green light flickered on and targeted Wheeljack, giving him a slow once over. As it did so, Ratchet was amazed to see a detailed image of Wheeljack’s armour plating and cabling appear as the beam traveled down his frame. It was just like an x-ray machine, only on a portable device. And interactive Ratchet came to find out as the beam of light flickered off once more and the readings filtered in. Ratchet used his digits to zoom in on the image and as he did so parts of Wheeljack’s outward armour and cabling fell away to reveal the inner network of fuel lines and precious biomechanical organs.

“This is amazing, Wheeljack! How did you manage this?” Ratchet’s physician face of indifference fell away to reveal just how happy he was about the new development. The wide grin from earlier returned to his face plate ten fold and when his optics met Wheeljack’s he saw a similar smile.

“Oh, you know. Coding. I may or may not have borrowed from your x-ray machine schematics and tweaked them to fit the med scanner. I wasn’t sure if everything would have meshed well but by the look on your face I suppose it has,” Wheeljack chuckled, “Got a good look at me, doc?”

“I sure did.” Ratchet’s optics were already looking over the actual medical readings that came through. Just as Wheeljack had said a decacycle ago, there was no evidence of any battle scars or past wounds. He was just as green on the inside as he looked on the outside. The only thing that was of concern to the medic was the recharge cycle reading. “Have you been getting enough rest, Wheeljack?”

The younger mech laughed and shook his head, “Not more than a few cycles at a time.”

“Wheeljack! You need to recharge at least six in order to function. Why haven’t you been doing so?”

“It’s because I was building _that_ ,” Wheeljack grumbled, “I don’t tend to rest when I’m working on a project.”

“Apparently.” The medic rolled his optics. “Thank you for this, by the way. I’m sorry for… doubting you.” Ratchet shuffled awkwardly on his pedes, giving the younger mech a furtive look. It isn’t often that he admits his mistakes, as stubborn as he is.

“It’s fine. Happens all the time. I’m just glad I got to prove you wrong.” He smirked at Ratchet as he got off the examination table. “Let me know when you need help on one of your projects next time, will ya? The offer earlier still stands.” 

The bots bid each other goodbye and Ratchet was left pleased he finally had his scanner back. His satisfaction may or may not have been elevated with the modifications that went with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding any questions you might have about Wheeljack’s age, yes he is (obviously) younger in this fic. I’m not quite sure how old he’s supposed to be in Prime and I know in other continuities he and Ratchet are around the same age, but one comment in canon from Optimus about never actually meeting Wheeljack before and only hearing about his reputation makes me think that Wheeljack was not around before the start of the war.
> 
> Also, to touch on Wheeljack’s helm finials, at present moment they light up when he speaks like in the G1 cartoon. It’s too fun a gimmick not to include X) I have reasons why they don’t work anymore in the cartoon which I may or may not elaborate on in the future.


	2. Combustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No! I could have saved him!”
> 
> “I’m sure you could have, but there wasn’t time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are lots of time skips in this one but I put breaks in the text so they’re obvious. Theme song for this one is Burn Break Crash by Aanysa x Snakeships (playlists on YT and Spotify, just search for Digits on My Servos)! All song choices are up for your interpretation but I thought the burn, break, crash part was similar to how they keep running into each other in this chapter.

A few megacycles had passed before Ratchet saw the young engineer again. They were in the same regiment, but when working with over a thousand other bots and sticking to their respective spaces a chance encounter was unlikely. Of course, when it finally did happen, it was under less than desirable circumstances.

The ring of cannon fire echoed in Ratchet’s audials like nothing else. He could hardly hear the voices of the mechs barking out orders in front of him. The medic was shoved in the direction of a wounded soldier and he quickly set to work patching up the bot’s busted fuel line. Decepticons had discovered their base location once again, and it angered Ratchet to no end. Couldn’t they stay in one place for longer than a nanoklik? Shots whizzed overhead as he struggled to keep the bot’s energon loss to a minimum.

“I need someone to put pressure on this wound!” he yelled into the chaos. He doubted anyone had heard until a mech sprinted from the midst of battle in his direction.

“Better make this quick, doc, ‘Cons are comin’ in fast.” Servos quickly replaced his own over the gushing wound as a familiar voice broke through the din of war. The urgency of his voice rung alarm bells in Ratchet’s processor, forcing the medic to move faster. He transformed his servo into his welder and worked on cauterizing the fuel lines beneath the armour plating. Without the proper tools or the time to switch the mech’s pain receptors off, his patient felt the full brunt of Ratchet’s ministrations and screamed in agony. It made the medic’s dentae grit together but there was no helping it.

A sudden explosion erupted to their left, washing them with debris. Ratchet dodged a flying piece of shrapnel before it could lodge itself in his spark chamber. The ground shuddered with the aftershock, causing the medic to stumble and nearly alight the pool of energon forming beneath his patient with his operating welder.

“Any time now!” the younger mech hissed into his audial.

“Primus, Wheeljack, I’m trying!” he growled his irritation as he caught his footing. A beat more and he’d be finished. Or at least he would have been, if it wasn’t for the call from bots ahead for the trio to duck another incoming rocket. Ratchet could hardly react before a frame was already slamming into his own. They smashed into the ground, sparks flying as their armour plating scraped together. The explosion deafened Ratchet being as close as it was, and the flash of light that followed blinded him.

“Get up, we gotta move.” Wheeljack pulled himself from Ratchet and hauled the medic up onto his pedes.

“No!” he shouted, knowing full well that his injured patient had been where the scorching hole in the ground was now. “I could have saved him!”

“I’m sure you could have, but there wasn’t time.” The younger mech grasped Ratchet’s servo when it didn’t look like he would move on his own any time soon and pulled him forward. He took off in a run, Ratchet struggling to keep up as they swerved to avoid enemy fire. Wheeljack was right, Ratchet knew, but it still made his spark clench. Another mech lost to the endless struggle between Autobots and Decepticons. Another mech he could have saved. It would hurt every time those words slipped past his derma.

After falling back a sizable distance from the front lines of the battle, Wheeljack and Ratchet collapsed behind decent cover. Ratchet’s optics could hardly focus on their surroundings, still stinging from the explosion earlier, but he could at least tell it was behind the rubble of one of their base’s buildings. It might have once been the barracks, but he wasn’t sure. He never made it a habit to visit.

“Will you be fine on your own here? You can wait for the others to fall back,” Wheeljack asked after a klik or two of silence.

“And where exactly do _you_ plan on going?” Ratchet questioned as Wheeljack stood to his pedes.

“Where do ya think?” The younger bot motioned towards the direction they had just come from. “To kick some ‘Con aft.”

“Oh no you’re not. You’re an engineer, not a soldier. You don’t even have any weapons in your subspace!”

“But I need to do something more! Engineering won’t help defend our base from a ‘Con invasion,” Wheeljack protested, “I can’t just sit here and wait for them to reach our position again. I was doing just fine throwing punches before you came along.”

“You were what?! Wheeljack!” Ratchet rose up to meet the younger bot’s optics, throwing his servos up in exasperation. “Your talents would be wasted if you got yourself harmed! Imagine if I needed another medical scanner? Who would help me then?”

“But-”

“Do you think the Decepticons will take it easy on you just because you’re inexperienced? No! We need seasoned warriors to fight them. I highly doubt you’ve received the training necessary to fend for yourself in a battle like this. Self defense, sure, but not a full blown attack!”

“No, I never said that. I can fight-”

“No, you can’t! You’re needed elsewhere. We have plenty of other Autobots to do the job. If we lose the base, we lose it, it’s just a place, but we can’t lose you.” Ratchet jabbed a digit into Wheeljack’s chest plate to emphasize his words. “What you can do for now is help me find the wounded and pull them off the battlefield. That would be more useful to the cause than another gun in the fight.” He turned away before Wheeljack could sputter another word. The younger bot clamped his intake shut and fixed his optics to the ground, ridges furrowed in a frustrated glare.

“Alright,” he muttered and trudged after the other mech.

Despite the Autobots’ best efforts, the Decepticons ultimately ran them off their base. Ratchet did his best to keep alive what little he could of their wounded, but like the first mech he assisted in the field that solar cycle, not all could be saved. The regiment’s numbers had dwindled considerably, and when they all arrived at another nearby Autobot base to report their condition, most were split up and sent to serve elsewhere.

Ratchet was kept at the base, where he could work on healing his injured crew. He was not surprised to find that Wheeljack, along with the rest of their engineering team, remained there as well. This time around he decided not to wait for fate to decide their next meeting, but instead sought the younger mech out.

It took nearly a decacycle, but once all who needed it were tended to and optimally functioning, Ratchet left the medbay to find Wheeljack. It didn’t take long, once he arrived in the engineering wing of the base the loud yelling from what must have been a superior officer was clue enough.

“I believe I gave you specific instructions on how to adjust the shockwave parameters. You can’t just add explosives to whatever you feel like!”

“You gotta admit though, she packs a pretty sweet punch now. I’d say the inclusion of an emulsifier like you wanted would have been counterintuitive,” a familiar voice chuckled, clearly to the ire of the commanding officer if the growl that followed had anything to say about it.

“I don’t like this attitude of yours! I’m not sure how your old chief engineer handled you, but if you don’t correct your mistakes and do as I say I’ll ship you out to be reprogrammed!”

“Whatever you say, sir.” The mocking tone would have been anything but amusing if it were directed at Ratchet, but seeing as it wasn’t the medic found it rather funny. Ratchet rounded the hall just in time to see a mech he didn’t recognize shove past Wheeljack and stomp off.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, Wheeljack?” Ratchet piped up once the bot was gone. The mech in question swiveled around to look at the medic, surprise flowing fluidly into an easy smirk at the sight of him.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Chief can’t get a grip that I thought his ideas were dumb and did my own thing. He wanted to put an emulsifier in an energon cannon tank. To make it less unstable, I believe were his words. Who does that?” He crossed his arms over his chest plate and leaned against the nearby wall, giving Ratchet a slow once over. “Can I help you with somethin’, doc?”

“No. And please stop calling me that. You know what my name is, use it,” Ratchet grumbled, “I came here to, ah, thank you… You saved my life the other solar cycle.”

“No problem.” Wheeljack shrugged. After a beat of silence he raised his optic ridge in question. “Was that it?”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“You came all the way down here just to thank me?” Wheeljack chuckled.

“My life is a pretty big deal to me,” Ratchet snapped in return, “I see no humor in that.”

“One solar you’ll just have to return the favor.”

“Yes. And at this rate...” He motioned towards where the mech from earlier had been standing as he chewed Wheeljack out for disobeying orders. “You’ll end up in my medbay any time now.”

“Don’t be so sure. Anyways, I guess I gotta get back to work.” Wheeljack pushed himself off the wall and made to leave.

“Wait, Wheeljack, I , uh… that wasn’t it.” Ratchet stepped forward to stop the younger mech from leaving too soon. This time he didn’t hide his surprise as he turned his attention to the medic once more. “I wanted to suggest that maybe you, I don’t know, come by sometime. Show me how to do some coding, like you said.” What in the Allspark was he saying? Ratchet didn’t care about that, not really. He supposed it would be useful though…

“Sure. I think I can fit that into my busy schedule.” Wheeljack let out a small laugh, a delighted look glinting in his optics. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

..｡..｡..｡. .｡..

“I thought you said this was easy!” Ratchet growled, motioning his servos at the screen lighting up in red.

“That’s because it is.” Wheeljack bit back his agitation but couldn’t help the roll of his optics. “Not my fault you can’t get a grip on the basic fundamentals of code.”

“I’m a medic, not a computer scientist.”

“Whatever, if you’re just gonna get mad at me because you suck at this then I think we’re done here.”

"Wheeljack get back in here. We’re not finished yet!” Ratchet called out to the retreating form of the younger mech. The engineer’s plating shifted in annoyance but he did as the medic said anyways.

“If we do this you can’t yell at me anymore.”

“I am not yelling!”

A pointed look from Wheeljack made Ratchet’s face plates heat up in embarrassment. He cleared his voice box and motioned back at the screen. “Just show me what I’m doing wrong, I promise I won’t yell.”

A few cycles later and Ratchet hadn’t improved much but he at least figured out how to debug his computer and use the basic command codes. When that was over Wheeljack insisted they finish their lesson and head to the refueling center instead. Ratchet admitted he was rather parched and could use a cube of energon. Once they had gotten their servos on some much needed fuel the two sat down at a cafeteria table.

Ratchet surprised himself in being the first to break the silence, “So… what made you decide to become an engineer?”

“I’m good at it.”

That wasn’t exactly the response Ratchet was looking for and he hoped his irritated expression conveyed that to the younger mech. “Is that the only reason?”

“No. I like doing it too.” Wheeljack shrugged and sipped on his cube of energon. “At least when someone isn’t bossing me around, telling me what to do. That sucks the fun out of it. ...What about you? Why a medic?”

“Well, before the war… there wasn’t much need for it, I suppose. Though I’m glad I chose what I did. It was about helping people, really. I felt in my spark that I had to do something for those less fortunate than me and in those times that was most everyone. This whole war started because there was no equality among bots. I… wasn’t a fan of the system but I had no interest in politics. The medical field seemed the best way to achieve what I wanted. There are no biases when you’re a doctor, either rich or poor, slave or master, privileged or otherwise; all patients are the same.”

“Does that mean you’d treat a Decepticon just like an Autobot?”

“Primus no!” Ratchet shook his head rapidly, the next swig of energon leaving a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought. “Like I said, that was before the war. My ideals have changed somewhat since then.” 

“So have mine.”

“Oh?”

“My ideals. They’ve changed since I decided to be an engineer. I didn’t… know what the war was doing to everyone, didn’t see the devastation it brought. I’ve been pretty well removed from it all, seeing as I’ve spent most my life so far in Iacon. That battle, the one that kicked us out of our base the first time around, it was my first time seeing action.” Wheeljack’s hold on his cube tightened as his gaze darkened. “I watched one of the bots I’d known since programming get his spark pulled out of his chamber that solar. I’d never felt so helpless. Since then I’ve felt that there’s so much more I could be doing to defeat the Decepticons than add emulsifiers to energon tanks,” he hissed grimly.

“We’ve all lost someone in this war, Wheeljack. It’s... understandable that you’d be upset.” Ratchet extended a servo out to rest on Wheeljack’s in a rare display of comfort. “But trust me when I say that even if you aren’t personally taking down Decepticons, it’s happening. The work you’re doing with the weapons program, it’ll do wonders to improve our firepower. Then the bots who know how to wield it can use it to their advantage.”

“I’m building the damn things. You think I don’t know how to use my own inventions?”

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

“No, but you meant something. You think I can’t do it? Can’t become a fighter?” Wheeljack stood up sharply, ripping away from Ratchet’s servo, and pointed an accusing digit at him.

“That isn’t what I said, Wheeljack. Not at all.” Ratchet shook his helm before the younger mech got even more riled up. He was coming across a touchy subject for the bot. “If that’s truly what you want to do, while I don’t recommend it, ask to be reassigned. I think your skills would be much more useful here, but if you want to fight Decepticons yourself then get your aft into boot camp and learn how to do it properly.”

Wheeljack’s optics widened as Ratchet’s tone grew sharper and more accusatory the further along he spoke. He slumped back down in his seat when the older mech had finished. Some energon had spilled onto the table in his sudden upheaval and he swiped at it half sparkedly to clean it up. His attempt did nothing but smear it around more and get it all over his servo. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “Hadn’t meant to be rude.”

Ratchet’s vents whirred in amusement as he watched. He finished his own cube with a swift gulp and stood up. “Come on, let’s get that cleaned up.”

It was soon after their conversation that Ratchet heard the news of Wheeljack’s departure. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. The young mech was bright and could do wonders for the Autobot cause as far as his engineering skills went, but if that was the path Wheeljack wanted to take then so be it. Ratchet hoped he would learn how to be a skilled fighter and not end up as another snuffed spark, another waste of talent. 

Those young bots, the ones created after the war had started… fighting was all they knew. They didn’t understand what it meant to sit by and do anything else but fight. Ratchet had seen it first in Wheeljack, and proceeded to see it every solar since then when marking the time of death in the Autobot database after a rookie that had taken the ultimate unnecessary risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two bots trying to get to know each other as well as they can in the middle of a war. Don’t worry, Wheeljack always finds his way back ;)
> 
> Also for reference if you're confused about the time system I'm using:  
> * Unit of time - “(how long it is in) Earth equivalent” [measurement of the unit // “measurement in Earth equivalent”]
> 
> * Astroklik - “half a second” [half a nanoklik]  
> * Nanoklik - “(one) second”  
> * Klik - “(1.25) minutes” [75 nanokliks]  
> * Cycle - “(1.25) hours” [60 kliks]  
> * Solar cycle - “day” [16 cycles // “20 hours”]  
> * Decacycle - “week” [10 solar cycles]  
> * Megacycle - “month” [30 solar cycles, 3 decacycles]  
> * Stellar cycle - “year” [16 megacycles, 480 solar cycles // “400 days”]  
> * Trimara - “decade” [30 stellar cycles]  
> * Vorn - century [80 stellar cycles // “83 years”]  
> * Metacycle - millennia [10 vorn]
> 
> * Solar - day time [12 cycles]  
> * Orn - night time [8 cycles]


	3. Disturbance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Trust me, my idea is perfect.”
> 
> “Then let’s hear it.”
> 
> “Slag. His name is Slag now.”
> 
> “You can’t name someone _Slag_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the Dinobots make an appearance! Many other brief cameos to come. Also this chapter's a long one. Distraction by Synchronice ft. Karra is the song to listen along to this chapter (playlist on YT and Spotify, just search for the fic title).

Vorn went by without so much as a word from Wheeljack, and Ratchet would be lying if he didn’t admit to missing the mech. He couldn’t explain why. Their time together had been brief and Ratchet wished the younger mech would have stayed just a bit longer, that he had gotten to know him a bit better. It was a foolish whim, but one Ratchet held onto as the stellar cycles passed. Wheeljack had never given him so much as a goodbye. The last time he’d seen the young mech was bittersweet, the bot excusing himself after their argument in a mess hall neither of them were acquainted with, the images of battle still fresh in their processors. Ratchet had no idea if the mech was safe, if he had made it through boot camp, if he became the warrior he felt he was destined to be. At least he knew the bot had not perished or lost himself to the pits. A regular check in the Autobot archives made sure of that.

Ratchet was now in charge of a vital research project, based on Autobot controlled Lunar I where he could operate in peace. It was a step up from being a medic in the field and Ratchet welcomed the change. With the way things were going in the war, there were little scientists still left to do the work they were needed for. Ratchet had to step in and do what he could. His mission: to harness the power of wormholes and utilise it in the transportation of troops and supplies. It had been done eons before by their more explorative ancestors, but the technology had long since been lost to them. The project was highly classified and the results could be unpredictable, dangerous even, but if he were able to recreate the manipulable portals it would give the Autobots an edge in winning the war.

Due to the classified nature of such a project, one so revolutionary, it would be volatile if it fell into Decepticon servos. That was why the moonbase was heavily fortified with security measures. No bot came in or out of the laboratory without Ratchet’s say so, and any bot to come on base was explicitly approved of by Optimus Prime himself. That was why when a certain bot came on base, Ratchet was one of the first to know, and his spark leaped when he recognized the name in the list of new recruits for the project.

“By the Allspark…” he had muttered upon first seeing it. He couldn’t believe it. _Wheeljack, here? On his base?_ According to the roster it was because he would be leading his own experimental project and needed the security and resources the far removed moonbase provided. _What kind of project would that be_ , Ratchet wondered. Excitement grew in the older mech’s spark in the solar cycles leading up to Wheeljack’s arrival.

When the solar finally came he could hardly get off his berth, his tank was twisting with nerves. _Would Wheeljack remember? Would he care? Was it weird that Ratchet remembered_ him _after all this time?_ He approached the hangar bay with hesitance, a swirl of emotions conflicting inside his spark chamber. The doors slid open and he stepped through. His optics surveyed the large room until they spotted a familiar white, green, and red paint job. Ratchet wasn't expecting relief to flood his engines when he spotted the mech in one piece. He hadn’t realized how much he worried about him until now. Blue optics met blue and Ratchet’s vents all but clicked to a halt. 

Wheeljack was getting his credentials checked by the hangar bay security guard and once he was cleared and waved along the bot made his approach. There was a long line of others behind him, names Ratchet hadn’t given much attention to when he cleared the list. They were all no doubt here to contribute to his work in one way or another. But what mattered to the medic was the bot standing before him now.

“Welcome to Moonbase One,” the medic greeted softly, triggering a private smirk from the other bot. Ratchet quickly rebooted his voice box before his voice charged with static. “Welcome to Moonbase One!” he repeated, much louder this time to address the entire group. “My name is Ratchet and I’m in charge of operations around here. You’ll all be reporting to me.”

“Glad to be of service.” A beat later and the familiarly smooth voice followed with a short, “...doc.” Ratchet had never been so happy to hear the slang term before. _So he did remember._

“Wheeljack.”

“Ratchet.”

The coming solar cycles were filled with briefings and introductions Ratchet made to his fellow scientists. He hardly had time to play catch up with Wheeljack, as much as he wanted to. The Autobots needed the wormhole technology he was working on as soon as time would allow and Ratchet feared their efforts were not progressing fast enough. The work was exhausting but rewarding as they made several breakthroughs. 

All he saw of Wheeljack were words on a screen as he flipped through progress reports late at night when he should have been recharging. Apparently he had not strayed as far from his path as Ratchet had feared. The young bot had been ordered by Optimus to create indestructible warriors for the Autobot cause. They were called Dinobots and they were supposed to be fearless fighting machines. Ratchet came to enjoy reading the mech’s progress reports. They were mostly filled with mechanical jargon he couldn’t understand but Ratchet could see the passion expressed in his words.

Words on a screen turned into solidity when Ratchet was requested by the Autobot leader to look in on the project and see where his valuable insight could be administered. Ratchet didn’t mind taking a break from his own if it meant seeing his young (friend?) associate again. 

He alerted Wheeljack of his incoming arrival and attempted to conceal his eagerness for a chance to talk. The doors slid open into a relatively small lab space, one that was dominated almost entirely by three large, reptoid-like frames. They were nothing more than skeletons really, no cabling or armour had been applied yet. There wasn’t much room for Ratchet to spare for a completely different experiment, but he almost felt guilty for not giving Wheeljack more when he took in the size of the things. They were easily twice his height, maybe more. Not that it was much of a feat to be taller than him, most bots were, but these things were taller than tall.

“Impressed?” Someone piped up from a corner of the room. A step further in and Ratchet could see Wheeljack wiring what looked to be a completely servosmade processor, or something similar. Two more just like it were in varying states of assembly on the work table beside him.

“They are rather large,” Ratchet admitted, though now that the other bot had spoken he had the medic’s focused attention. “When I looked over your blue prints I hadn’t expected them to be so… ferocious looking.” Another glance at the faces of Wheeljack’s creations sent shivers down his spinal strut. He wouldn’t want to be torn apart by those any time soon. Their teeth were the size of servos and their mouths alone were bigger than Ratchet’s chassis.

“Don’t worry, doc. They’ll be on our side.” Wheeljack seemed to be finished at the moment and ceased his ministrations on the processor. “Now what is it you’re here for exactly?”

“Optimus wanted to see if I could do anything to help. If I had known you were already this far along in your work I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Please, those are just their frames. It gets more complicated once you build out from there.” He motioned towards the unit he was just working on. “I gotta figure out what all to put in their heads as well as their bodies. I’m sure you could help me out with that, since the Cybertronian body is your expertise.” A subtle hint at something flavoured Wheeljack’s words in his final statement.

Ratchet raised an optic ridge curiously at the other mech. “...Perhaps I could offer my assistance.” It was, after all, what he was here to do.

“Excellent!” Wheeljack strode over to the medic and slapped a servo down on his shoulder plate. “Let me point you in the right direction. I’m sure you’ve been reading up on my reports?”

Time spiraled away from there once Ratchet was put to work welding pieces of frame together and attaching muscular cables. He found himself coming back to the lab regularly to assist the younger bot, if not for the sociable atmosphere then to take a break from his more stressful work. Though it was most definitely the former than the latter. Wheeljack was more than talkative, enjoying the company in his lab space. Ratchet found it unusual that he felt similarly seeing as he often went out of his way to work alone. 

Wheeljack was just as he remembered, if not more self-assured than before. He told stories from his time in bootcamp, gave Ratchet a detailed description of his first brawl with a Decepticon and the receivement of his first battle scar (a deep gash in his lower lip plate), and described the friends he’d made along the way. In turn Ratchet spoke of times before the war, described the stories behind his own battlescars, and while he didn’t have very many (or any) new friends he certainly had lots to say about a younger Optimus Prime, much to Wheeljack’s amusement.

Eventually the time came for them to wrap up Project Dinobot, the forms fully constructed and processors fully coded. The Dinobots would be conscious, capable of thought and self reflection, but they were inclined to take orders and were not bright enough to quite think on their own. It was a masterpiece, and looking at his and Wheeljack’s handiwork made him smile. Optimus Prime was called in for a review of the Dinobot’s capabilities before clearing them for duty. The base was soon abuzz with excitement; not all Autobots actually got to meet the leader of their cause.

“We should name ‘em,” Wheeljack piped up in their preparation for the Prime. He was busy oiling one of the Dinobot’s gears as he spoke. “They gotta have designations.”

“What did you have in mind?” Ratchet mused for a moment, processor turning up nothing. He had never needed to designate another bot before.

“You like the name Lockjaw? That’s pretty tough soundin’, ain’t it?” Wheeljack motioned at the largest of the three.

“Lockjaw?” Ratchet snorted. “I was thinking something more dark. Have you seen the size of those teeth? I might have just a tad of sympathy for the grim demise of future Decepticons.”

“Grimtooth then? Grimjaw?”

Ratchet made a face at those.

“Grim _lock_?” Wheeljack pressed on.

“Hmm…” the medic hummed in agreement. “That one sounds decent.”

“Grimlock then. Or we could call him Stumpy, ‘cause of those little arms,” Wheeljack snickered, making Ratchet roll his optics.

“No one is being called Stumpy.” He eyed the one with wings that Wheeljack was working on. “How about Swoop for that one?”

“Easy enough. Sounds good to me.” They directed their attention on the final Dinobot, the one Ratchet was currently installing the processor into. “I dunno about that one. This designation business is some hard slag. Who knows how the primary programmers do it?”

Ratchet shrugs. “It’s up to you.” He immediately regretted his choice of phrasing when a wild grin spread across Wheeljack’s face plates. “Ohh no. Forget I said that. I can tell whatever you’re about to say will be a terrible decision.”

“Hey, you just said it’s up to me. I did build them after all.” Wheeljack sidled up to Ratchet, tapping an accusatory digit on his chest plate.

“With my help!” Ratchet knocked the offending digit away with a scoff.

“Trust me, my idea is perfect.”

“Then let’s hear it.” He crossed his arms over his chest plate and gave Wheeljack a look.

“Slag. His name is Slag now.”

“You can’t name someone _Slag_!” Ratchet threw his servos up in protest.

“Nope, too late. It’s done now.”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Ratchet couldn’t believe this bot. Oh but he could. If Wheeljack constantly insisted on calling him _doc_ then using a term such as this one to actually _name_ something could not possibly be above him. It was almost expected in fact.

“It’s what you get for not letting me name Grimlock Stumpy.”

Ratchet rolled his optics and shoved a servo at Wheeljack’s shoulder plate. “You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s just part of my charm.” He winked before stepping away to continue his work. Ratchet shook his helm and sighed before following suit. The warmth rising up in his face plates had everything to do with his frustration with the younger mech’s immaturity and nothing to do with his easy flirt.

.｡..｡..｡. .｡.

“And now fellow Autobots, and especially Optimus Prime, it gives me great pleasure to present-”

“Will you get to the point,” one of the members of Team Prime interrupted. The nerve of some of these warrior types, more interested in killing Decepticons than the feat of science standing before them. Ratchet sent the bot an icy glare before continuing. 

“Autobots, meet Dinobots!” Ratchet motioned towards the trine of mechs as Wheeljack turned up the lights for everyone to see. They were standing outside in the moonbase courtyard presenting the Dinobots to Optimus Prime along with his elite team of warriors, known as Team Prime. Ratchet recognized quite a few of them, but names for most escaped him. Ironhide was one of the only bots he knew personally, having been friends before the war and serving in the same regiment for a time.

“Look at the size of those things!” He heard another bot gasp. More whispers of surprise and wonder permeated through the crowd, but Ratchet’s attention was focused on only one bot’s reaction. Optimus Prime, true to his nature, did not reveal anything on surface level as his optics swept over the frames of their new champions. Of course at present moment the bots were not in their dino form, but rather in their bot form. Wheeljack had insisted despite Ratchet’s protests, thinking it would make the presentation more exciting if they revealed their alt modes after the initial shock.

“Allow me to introduce Grimlock, Slag, and Swoop!” Wheeljack announced. He was met with the mocking laugh of another warrior class, much to Ratchet’s ire. 

“I thought you were supposed to make _Dino_ bots!” the mech cackled. 

Wheeljack looked to Ratchet with a small nod. He ground his dentae together but was pleased that the comment didn’t take away from the younger mech’s excitement. The two shared a knowing look before the medic turned away to face their creations.

“Dinobots, transform!” Ratchet commanded with a motion of his arm. 

Team Prime boggled at the sight of the monstrous alt modes. Optimus Prime, however, surveyed their frames with an eye one might expect from the commanding officer of the Autobots, no detail left uninspected. Grimlock was a bipedal reptoid with a massive skull balanced by a long, heavy tail. Relative to his large and powerful hindlimbs, his forelimbs were short, as Wheeljack had stated before, but powerful for their size and ended in two clawed digits. Slag had a short and sturdy four-legged frame with a helm that had a large plate frill and three horns. It made him look quite intimidating despite his lack of claws. Swoop was the smallest of the three, though he made up for it with his broad wing span and tall helm crest.

“Interesting,” another bot mused, one Ratchet recognized as Cliffjumper. “But what else can they do?”

“Dinobots! Clear this rubble,” Wheeljack stepped up to command the creatures this time, motioning to the scrap metal Ratchet had brought out for them to test on. It wouldn’t be a showcase without something to display, now would it?

“And be quick about it,” Ratchet added, glancing nervously at the Prime as he did so. He sincerely hoped Optimus was pleased with their work. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he had slacked on the portal technology to assist Wheeljack for nothing.

In response to the command, the Dinobots began to charge their laser fire. Grimlock opened his jaws where an orange glow began to emanate, Swoop’s came from his optics, and the tips of each of Slag’s horns followed suit. They targeted the scrap metal with the sharp orange beams and slowly began to melt the materials down to nothing.

“Of course the Dinobots have simple processors, so it should be easy to command them,” Wheeljack explained to Optimus. “I’ve given them the capacity to self think, an artificial intelligence so to speak, so they do have their own wills.” Swoop squaked and flapped his wings as if on cue, proving Wheeljack’s point.

“This is beyond expectation, Wheeljack,” Optimus spoke after a moment of deliberating, “It pleases me to see that you’ve more than accomplished your task. And I see you received a great deal of help.” His optics flickered to Ratchet, who gave a slight nod in return.

“Ratchet was more than helpful. He practically built them just as much as I did. I think he deserves more credit than that.” He flashed Ratchet a dazzling grin and the older bot couldn’t help but smile back. A warm fluttering feeling filled his spark chamber at the kind words given to him by his associate.

“That is good to hear.” Optimus glanced carefully between the two before turning his attention to the projects in question. “You will report back to Cybertron and to your former division. I will place you in charge of Dinobot operations, Wheeljack. They will remain under your command.”

Wheeljack perked up at the sound of that, an eager smile flitting across his face plates before he stood at attention and saluted. “Thank you, sir. I am rather attached.” 

“At ease.” Optimus waved his servo in reply, dismissing Wheeljack before turning to the medic. “As for you, old friend, your services are still required here on Moonbase One with the Bridge Project. I expect you to return to your full duties, as I understand you have been focusing most of your attention on Project Dinobot.”

“Ah, y-yes…” Ratchet’s face plates heated up with embarrassment. _Had he really been that obvious?_ But of course, the Autobot leader would have seen his shift in duties in his reports, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed as he watched Wheeljack pet his servo along Grimlock’s neck plating and the Dinobot eagerly respond. Wheeljack said so himself, the Dinobots were as much Ratchet’s as they were his. The medic had grown just as attached to their creations, as well as to a certain mech in particular…

“Ratchet, is there something wrong? Are you finding difficulties with the project?” Optimus’s optics were filled with concern, and it furthered Ratchet's embarrassment when he pulled his attention from Wheeljack back to the Prime.

“No!” he answered quickly. “Everything’s fine, just… slow.”

“Very well.” Optimus gave him another careful look. “Keep me updated.” He stepped away from Ratchet and the medic was about to sigh with relief when he turned back again. “And Ratchet, please take care of yourself.” A deeper meaning lay behind his words but Ratchet was at a loss as to what it was.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Ratchet nodded rapidly, easing his stance when Optimus finally bid him goodbye. The mech could see straight through him and it unnerved Ratchet because it was not a shared trait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Ratchet catching feelings already? o.0
> 
> Obviously Ratchet and Wheeljack don’t build the Dinobots together in the Aligned continuity but I love that episode from G1 too much not to include it. And before you ask, yes this Grimlock eventually grows up to be our boy in the RiD cartoon! As far as lore goes this fic won’t be a perfect replica of any one timeline, it’s very mishmashed, though I’m sticking mostly to Aligned since that’s where TFP takes place. If you don’t care about continuities or timelines and have no idea what I’m talking about just sit back and enjoy the canon divergences!


	4. Blind Sighted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You handle yours well? You look like a mech that can take a few drinks.”
> 
> “Hah, a _few_? I contended with Megatron back in my time.”
> 
> “Sure you did, sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! And Wheeljack and Ratchet finally go on their first date(?)!! Casanova by Allie X is this chapter’s song and it’s also what I imagine playing in the club when they walk in, so that’s when I’d start listening to it. You don’t have to of course but it adds a little extra something :) Find the playlists on Spotify and YouTube.

It was harder for Ratchet to return to his work on the portals than he thought it would be. He missed the smooth voice chatting away in his audial, when it interrupted and distracted him as he tried to get something done. He wasn’t alone in his laboratory, far from it; he had dozens of other bots to speak with if he wanted to, but it was not the same as Wheeljack. They actually recognized him as their superior, unlike _someone_ , and treated him as such. Which meant avoiding optic contact and staying out of his way, only speaking to him when he addressed them or they had something to report. And he wouldn’t have thought any different of it, only he had finally experienced… enjoyment from someone else’s company while they worked together. He missed it, Primus he did. And it hadn’t even been a complete solar cycle yet! He was hopeless.

Wheeljack and the Dinobots were to leave with Team Prime to return to Cybertron within the next few solar cycles and Ratchet’s spark was aching for reasons he didn’t want to recognize. He hadn’t even visited the mech or their creations since this painful revelation for fear it would be too obvious, as well as the fear that he would hurt even more after a goodbye. He was perfectly fine with their presentation of the Dinobots being their last meeting ever. Of course, the younger mech had other plans.

When the bot of his thoughts strolled right into his laboratory as if he owned the place, Ratchet had not been paying attention. He was deeply invested in soldering circuits onto a motherboard when a shadow fell over his work table. His optics flickered up in narrowed slits to glare at whoever dared to interrupt him when he was in such a foul mood. Shocked, Ratchet bolted upright, only to disturb the magnifying glass he had been using to see the tiny wires with his flying servo. The tool went crashing to the floor and shattered into dozens of little pieces.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” Wheeljack mumbled guiltily, leaning down to pick up the pieces. Ratchet was in the middle of doing the same when their servos bumped into each other.

“Eh, i-it’s okay…” Ratchet’s voice was filled with static as he snatched his servo away and he had to reboot it before speaking again. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“You okay, doc?” Wheeljack questioned curiously, lifting an optic ridge at the medic.

“Yes, yes,” Ratchet waved it off and left briefly to grab a sweep pan.

“I dunno, you seem pretty high strung. Not that you ever aren’t, heh.” Wheeljack backed off as he watched the older mech clean up the mess. “Which is exactly why I’m here.”

“Oh really?” Ratchet snorted, eyeing Wheeljack for the first time since his initial arrival. The mech was sporting his usual smirk and Ratchet’s vents hitched at the sight. He had previously come to the reality that he would never see it again and now it’s all his optics could focus on.

“Yep. Gonna take you out while I still got the chance. I’m leavin’ first thing tomorrow.” If seeing his smile was bad enough, his next words practically short circuited his processors. Ratchet must have looked as shocked as he felt because Wheeljack’s smirk quickly spread into a devilish grin.

“Y-you’re wha-” The medic gaped at him, earning a soft chuckle. “I, well, I-I’m flattered...”

“Relax, doc. Don’t gotta say nothin’ but yes.” Wheeljack held a servo out to bring Ratchet back to his pedes. “Not that you have much of a choice, I’d say you need the break. Now come on, let’s get you outta here. Bet you haven’t even left base since you arrived.” 

“My name’s not doc,” was all Ratchet could mumble in reply as Wheeljack led him out of the lab and through the base. Wheeljack wasn’t wrong, Ratchet hadn’t left the base since he arrived on Lunar I, but he hadn’t had the time. Not that he does now, but with Wheeljack’s intent so obviously laid out he could hardly say _no_. 

His spark thrummed thunderously in his chamber as they passed the security gates without so much as a peep from the guards and started on the road to the nearby city. He couldn’t believe it. _Was this… was this a date?_ He wasn’t sure, maybe he misread Wheeljack’s words, maybe he was simply being friendly. A co-worker taking another one out for drinks after a project completed and a job well done, it’s what normal bots did, wasn’t it? 

He tried to remember what it was like before the war but nothing turned up. Likely because whenever his friends back then did invite him to things he had always declined, preferring to work instead of play. Primus, he should have spent more time with them. Half of them were gone now, and the other half were battle hardened and completely changed from war. _But not Wheeljack._ Despite his brief time among the ranks, he still acted like he did all those stellar cycles ago when they first met. Bright and brash and fearless. It was refreshing, no wonder Ratchet craved their time together.

“Where are we going?” Ratchet finally asked nearly ten kliks into their drive through the nighttime air. It was the first time the medic got a good look at the younger mech’s altmode. He’d expected a sleek land vehicle built for speed, with Wheeljack’s kibble and tapered proportions. He might have even been a racer if the precedent functionalist society was still in place.

“A little place I know. Probably not your kinda place but they serve the best high grade this side of the moon.”

“High grade?!” It had been metacycles since Ratchet bothered to touch the stuff. _He preferred to have his full awareness while a war was going on, thank you._ Not to mention the high grade this side of the war was not of the highest quality. It was dangerous, really, without regulations in place to quality control it’s production.

“Sure thing. You handle yours well? You look like a mech that can take a few drinks.”

“Hah, a _few_? I contended with Megatron back in my time.”

“Sure you did, sunshine.” Well that one was definitely new. With the tone Wheeljack was using Ratchet couldn’t tell if he was teasing or being… affectionate. He settled on the former and gave back his usual retort.

“I’m being serious here. A-and I thought I’ve told you before! Don’t call me names.”

“You’ve only ever said not to call you doc, _doc_.”

The rest of the drive was in comfortable silence; the two enjoying each other’s presence as they approached the lunar city. 

Most of the moon had remained neutral throughout the war, seeing as it was primarily inhabited by energon farmers. Every few vorn one faction or the other would gain control and reap the benefits of the boost in supplies, and at that time it was controlled by the Autobots. Most mechs that lived up here wanted to be far removed from the battlegrounds of Cybertron and had no interest in aligning with either side, thus the neutrality of most of Lunar I’s cities. Ratchet had not frequented Lunar I, even before the war, and was unfamiliar with the settlements along it’s surface. He hadn’t left the base since the beginning of the Bridge Project and had not made it to Helpful City, the closest to Moonbase One.

It looked like most other cities on Cybertron, with tall geometric shaped buildings and the faint blue glow of energon hazing the streets with light. They transformed with ease and began strolling down the streets. Ratchet shifted his optics nervously between all the unknown mechs milling about. Some looked minacious, standing in dark alleyways and handing each other unknown goods, and others were more friendly, even nodding at the pair when they passed by. 

“Don’t let the name fool you, I wouldn’t trust anybody around here,” Wheeljack murmured in Ratchet’s audial when they were stopped by a particularly chatty mech who tried to sell them some odd bolt or bit for repairs. He grunted in agreement once they slipped by. As a medical professional Ratchet knew none of those pieces were fit for actual use, but he didn’t tell the merchant that.

It took a few more kliks as they walked deeper into the city for them to arrive at the place of Wheeljack’s intent. He had certainly been right about it _not_ being Ratchet’s kind of place. Loud music pulsated from the shabby building, vibrant lights flashing through the cracking seams of metal wall as they flickered to the beat. A tall, sturdy mech was positioned outside the door, shoving anyone who looked too sleazy away from the entrance of the club. Ratchet tried not to feel too uncomfortable when he noticed the scarred Decepticon insignia on his shoulder plate. He could only imagine what the inside smelled like if the outside was this bad. The alleyway between their destination and another grungy, rundown building was piled high with scrap metal and empty energon cubes.

Ratchet made a face at Wheeljack as the younger mech pulled him into the line waiting to get in. A few bots glanced their way, taking in their Autobot insignias with a similar look Ratchet had just given the bouncer. 

“What on Cybertron are we doing here, Wheeljack? This place is… uncivilized.”

“I told you, best energon this side of the moon. It’s worth it, I promise,” the younger mech assured, flashing a sly grin and a wink to a few femmes glancing his way. They giggled as the bouncer let them through the doors, a couple giving him small flirtatious waves in return.

“Hmph.” Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest plate and tapped his digits against the plating there to purvey his annoyance. A beat later and they were at the front of the line, staring up at the bouncer’s distasteful frown.

“Autobots, huh? Not gonna cause too much trouble?”

“Can’t make any promises, Razorgate,” the younger mech grinned up at him.

“Wheeljack! Well I’ll be, how ya doin’? It’s been a while.” The bouncer seemed to recognize his voice and it made his face plates light up. Ratchet most certainly did not want to know how Wheeljack had become acquainted with this ruffian.

“Eh, the same. Just takin’ my friend here out, he needs some high grade in his system. Make him loosen up a little if you know what I mean.” Wheeljack elbowed Ratchet in the side, earning a smack to the helm from the medic. The bouncer let out a booming laugh and waved them in.

“I see what ya mean, come on in. Just don’t slice any tables in half this time.” 

“You what?” Ratchet sputtered as Wheeljack shuffled them into the club. It was as chaotic and abysmal as the medic had figured. The room was larger than front appearances suggested, extending further back than was seen. At the center of the room was a large dance floor where bots of all makes and models were dancing obscenely together. The music was even louder inside, thrumming within Ratchet’s chassis and spurring the beginnings of a helmache. To the right along the wall was the bar and quite a few tables where mechs sat and drank. The femmes from earlier had already gotten their drinks and were seated at one of the booths.

“Care to dance?” Wheeljack motioned towards the sea of mingling bots. 

“You’re joking, right?” Ratchet raised an optic ridge at the younger mech, his expression incredulous.

“Maybe after a few drinks you’ll think differently.” With that he sauntered over to the bar, leaving Ratchet to find a seat, and ordered them a few rounds of high grade. He came back with his servos full of cubes with the sloshing blue liquid. Ratchet eyed a pair of mysterious orange cubes with apprehension.

“What’s that?”

“Some energon mixed with off world organic stuff. I kinda got swindled into it, he said it was about to go bad and was droppin’ the price.”

“Wheeljack! Do you even know what’s in it?”

“No,” he admitted, giving the strange substance a curious look, “Gotta live a little, right?”

Ratchet groaned his irritation but took the proffered cubes anyways. He was pleased to find that the high grade was not as bad as he thought it would be. It had a pleasant spicy flavor to it that came with a long cultivation time and various chemical additives. It burned traveling down his throat pipe but the feeling was pleasant enough. At least Wheeljack was right about this part, maybe it was worth the trouble of the locale afterall.

“How’s your Bridge Project comin’ along? Can’t say I helped you out a whole lot on that.”

“Classified,” Ratchet replied, taking another fast gulp of high grade, “This is not the place to talk about it, and you no longer have the security clearance.” For once Wheeljack was the one to look annoyed and Ratchet reveled in it.

“I see.” Wheeljack’s frown flipped into a smirk when he noticed Ratchet’s mischievous grin. “Wish I could stay longer and return the favor, you helpin’ with the Dinobots and all. But you gotta do what Prime tells ya.”

“Speaking of listening to orders, how are you handling being a soldier? You’ve shared plenty of stories, never your feelings on the matter.”

“Well, it’s annoying I’ll admit. ...I get into a lot of trouble with my commanding officers, they never listen to any of my ideas,” Wheeljack shrugged, “On the front lines you gotta make split nanoklik decisions and it’s life or death. I do what I think is best for me and my mechs, ya know?”

Ratchet murmured his agreement, eyeing Wheeljack over his cube of energon. He hoped the mech wasn’t getting into too much trouble with his rebellious nature.

“They’re not the ones out there with their afts on the lines,” he growled, “If we take a bad hit they’re not getting hurt, all cozy in their command centers. They can’t see what’s really going down with the ‘Cons. Yet when I make a decision that keeps everyone’s afts alive out there, somehow I’m in trouble!”

“Maybe you should listen. Let the commanders take the repercussions for failing a mission. You can’t always be the hero, Wheeljack.”

“It’s not about that! It’s about keeping everyone alive! I could care less about any reward. And my plans make that happen,” Wheeljack huffs before waving a servo, “Not to argue with you or anything. I actually wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“A lot of things, really. You were the one who convinced me to go to bootcamp, to train up and be a real soldier. I… you don’t know how impactful that was on me. So thanks, for that,” Wheeljack coughs awkwardly, avoiding Ratchet’s gaze. Looks like he wasn’t one for sincerity. Ratchet knew the feeling. “And thanks for your help with the Dinobots. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“There’s no need for thanks, Wheeljack. I was perfectly happy to help. Instructed to, really, but I would have done it anyways,” the medic shrugs nonchalantly but secretly he was pleased. He didn’t get much thanks for the work he did and it sent flutters through his spark chamber knowing it was coming from Wheeljack.

“You ready to try this orange slag now?” Wheeljack suggested when they both finished their last high grade cube.

“ _No_.”

“Too bad. On the count of three, yeah?” Wheeljack passed one along to Ratchet as he took one for himself, an excited grin rising to his lip plates. 

Ratchet sighed heavily but gave in despite his better judgement, “Fine.”

“One… two… _three_!”

The rest of the night was a blur from there. Ratchet hadn’t a clue what was in that drink but he was positive it was not safe for consumption. Since that drink and several more after it, Wheeljack had somehow convinced him to join the crowd on the dance floor. Given any other time he would have been revolted by the frames of strangers grinding up against his own, but in the high grade induced haze he was actually having fun. Especially when the servos on his hip flares belonged to a certain someone. The music pervaded his senses and blocked almost everything else out. It was just he and the mech in front of him, a twisted grin and shining blue optics that had him drowning. A whisper in his audial had him moving back out of the heat of the crowd, the mech who spoke pushing him easily into a nearby wall.

“Primus, Ratchet. You shoulda told me you danced like that,” a deep voice drawled in his audial as servos pawed at his plating. It was slow and smooth, thick with high grade and something else that spiked Ratchet’s temperature.

“I never said I couldn’t dance. I just said I didn’t want to...” Ratchet retorted, all his thoughts trained on the places the other mech touched. His optics flickered up to look dead into Wheeljack’s, the sense of drowning in them quickly returning as he stared into the pools of blue.

“I think my intentions have been pretty clear so far, but in case the message was lost somewhere along the way…” Wheeljack ran his glossa along his lower lip plate before taking it between his dentae. Ratchet’s attention diverted down to the other bot’s intake, his cooling vents clicking on as he watched the tantalizing movements. That earned him a huff of laughter, the warmth of Wheeljack’s exvent brushing across his face plates. “I want you,” he whispered huskily, voice barely audible over the din of the club. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Ratchet choked, his voice box glitching and shorting out with the intense desire in his answer. Not that it mattered, he had nothing further to say when Wheeljack pressed their dermas together. The kiss was slow at first, but as the bots grew comfortable with each other their movements became more aggressive and needy. Ratchet relented beneath Wheeljack’s wild fervor, letting the younger mech explore his intake with a slick glossa. He let out a soft groan when a leg found its way between his thighs, trapping him further against the wall and grinding up into his interface array. His servos scrabbled for purchase on Wheeljack’s shoulder plating, arms wrapping around his neck to bring them even closer. Charge crackled between the two, a quick snap of light and electricity.

It was all too much for Ratchet, his senses washed with all that was Wheeljack. He was so caught up in the heat of the kiss that he hardly registered the servo sliding down his abdominal plating. He gasped when it dipped further and palmed at his interface panels. Ratchet quickly jerked out of Wheeljack’s grip, the fog of high grade suddenly clearing his processor as he registered what was happening.

“Nonono, not here Wheeljack…” Ratchet hissed. It took all of his effort to tear himself away from the wanton mech. “We can’t.”

“We most certainly can. We can find a back room somewhere if you’re shy. I know this club’s got ‘em. Primus, I wanna frag you so hard,” the younger bot slurred, reaching out for Ratchet again.

“No,” the medic insisted, stepping out of the other’s reach. His cooling vents struggled to keep up with the rising temperature of his frame at Wheeljack’s words. “Not like this. You’re...you’re overcharged, Wheeljack.” His voice cracked as the reality of the situation hit him like a punch to the tank. _Of course this is how he would find himself with the mech of his desires_ , he thought to himself bitterly. Why would anyone possibly want an old mech like him except with their processors half fried with high grade in a club so dark they couldn’t see two steps in front of them? “Come on Wheeljack, it’s time to go. You’re not yourself right now.”

The bot resisted, if marginally so, as Ratchet took one of his arms over his shoulder plates and hauled him towards the door. They both stumbled as the room seemed to sway, the high grade malfunctioning their equilibrium chips, but the medic managed to keep them steady. It was a time consuming process getting Wheeljack back to base, especially when the mech continuously tried to cop a feel of Ratchet’s aft along the way. Their plight seemed to amuse the security guards once they returned, especially when Wheeljack mentioned to them that it was “going down” tonight. Ratchet quickly denied those claims and allowed one of the guards to escort Wheeljack back to his quarters. Ratchet denied assistance for himself and stumbled to his rooms on his own. His recharge that night was more wallowing in self pity and hatred than actual rest, regret and guilt toiling in his tanks and keeping him online.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It got a little spicy there at the end, but it didn't quite turn out how we all wanted, huh? Don’t worry too much about Ratchet though, things will work out for them eventually. Or do they?
> 
> For future reference, when the R-18 funny business comes up in this fic I’ll let you know beforehand in the Author’s notes and it will be completely skippable with marks and everything so in case that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable you can still enjoy the story and not miss anything!


	5. Futile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why didn’t you say anything this whole time?”
> 
> “Well sorry, I just thought you wanted to keep it on the DL.”
> 
> “The what?”
> 
> “On the _down low_. Sweet Solus Prime, how old are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dinobots yeet! This chapter is so long! Generally I stick to a 2.5k minimum and this turned into a 3.5k chapter. Don’t Let Me Be Yours (Black Chiney Remix) by Zara Larsson fits this chapter best I think (with playlists on Spotify and YouTube).

The pounding helmache welcomed Ratchet as he onlined after a rather miserable recharge. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his temples in a feeble attempt to rid himself of the pain. Nothing but time and a cube of mid grade energon to flush out his systems would help him now. As for last night… The memories flooded his processor with a slurry of mixed emotions. He had a lot to think about, but first he had to tend to the incessant beeping of his comm line. If he let it ring it would only worsen his helmache.

“Hello?” His voice crackled with static, heavy from a restless night as well as the hangover he was begrudgingly experiencing.

“Apologies for waking you, old friend. I was simply wondering if you would care to join us in the hanger bay to bid your goodbyes,” Optimus’s deep baritone spoke to him on the other end of the comm. It soothed his audials to hear it, relaxing his helmache just a bit.

“Yes yes, I’ll be right there,” Ratchet grumbled, hanging up on the Prime and shuffling off his berth. He looked himself over, double checking to make sure there were no remnants of last night anywhere on his frame. Paint transfers were the most incriminating and yet the easiest to overlook. He had no time to visit the wash racks to be truly sure, but he appeared decent enough. It took a few clicks to reach the hangar bay and the impending dread filling his tanks did not help him get there any faster. 

He would no doubt see Wheeljack and he hadn’t a clue what to say to the other mech. _Would he even remember what happened?_ He had consumed a far greater amount of high grade than Ratchet had, and given his _tenacity_ last night it made Ratchet wonder. _Was an apology in order? Or would Wheeljack be the one apologizing to_ him _?_ Ratchet certainly felt it was more the younger mech’s fault than anyone’s, especially considering he had been the one to drag the medic there in the first place.

“Ratchet!” An unexpected but familiar voice greeted him first upon his arrival. He was welcomed in with a punch to the pauldron, much to the medic’s grizzled discomfort. It sent him reeling, and the helmache from his hangover was not helping matters.

“ _Ironhide_ ,” he snapped, pulling himself out of the red mech’s reach.

“Come to say goodbye, eh?”

“Anything to get you off my base quick.”

“Ain’t you as peachy as ever.” Ironhide rolled his optics but beamed back at him no less.

“Thank you for coming, Ratchet. I know you have a busy schedule.” Optimus Prime approached the two, looking as pleased as he could with his air of leaderly equanimity.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” _...say goodbye to my oldest friend_ was left unsaid but the meaning was there. The two traded servoshakes and Optimus patted his shoulder plating.

“We will be taking our leave, then. I trust you will keep me updated on the Bridge Project?”

“No, Optimus, I don’t intend to.” Ratchet couldn’t help the roll of his optics. Leave it to the Prime to point out the obvious. He wasn’t in a mood for it either, what with pain pulsating in his processor. “Not at all.” That pulled a laugh out of the weapons specialist beside him and the Autobot leader’s lip plating twitched, as if debating whether to smile or reprimand. They all knew he would do neither.

“Goodbye, old friend,” Optimus settled on simply, “We’ll see you again sometime soon.”

“See ya, Ratch.” Ironhide slammed a fist into him again and the two headed back towards their ship to join the rest of their crew.

“Ratch _et_ ,” he corrected under his exvent once he recovered from the second hit. What was with everyone, why couldn’t they just use his proper designation?

As he watched them leave the medic had to admit that he was a bit disappointed. He did not see Wheeljack or the Dinobots among the throng milling about outside the ship. And as they all began filing inside at the command of Optimus, he realized he _wouldn’t_ be seeing them. His tank sunk to the floor as more questions surfaced in his processor.

Why exactly was Ratchet so worried about Wheeljack in the first place? It wasn’t like the two knew each other that well. Sure, they had created life together (that sounded odd in his processor after putting it like _that_ ), and had spent a few megacycles in close company with no one but each other in the process. However, most of that time was spent on their creations, not each other. Admittedly that was more on Ratchet than Wheeljack; the younger mech had tried to pick up conversation but the medic often refused. At the time he insisted it was a distraction from their work but in reality it was because Wheeljack distracted him in more ways than he’d like to admit. 

The younger mech was certainly attractive, any bot with functional optics could see that. His waist was tapered and shapely, his shoulders broad, and don’t even get him started on those adorable helm finials that lit up blue with every word the mech spoke. And that was only a piece of the appeal. Despite what most might think upon first meeting the immature, abrasive mech, including Ratchet himself, Wheeljack was highly intelligent. Conversations with him were stimulating in ways Ratchet was not familiar with after spending most of his recent time with trigger-happy jarheads. When they had discussed plating integrity and cable connections while building the Dinobots it had Ratchet reeling when he didn’t have to simplify every word he said. And Wheeljack was actually willing to listen to Ratchet, unlike most of the warriors he was surrounded with.

But there was one thing that Ratchet had to think about, something that stood out in his processor whenever thoughts of Wheeljack stirred. They were in the middle of a war and something of this nature could not be pursued, not when the risk of offlining was too high… 

“Ah, scrap, wait!” Ratchet’s spiraling thoughts screeched to a halt and he stiffened when a thunderous voice echoed behind him. He turned his helm to find Wheeljack hurtling down the hallway with a large crate of supplies in servo. The mech nearly ran into him when he clumsily scraped through the doorway with it.

“Wheeljack, what-”

“Hey doc! Mind helpin’ me out?” The engineer shoved one end of the crate into Ratchet’s chassis, forcing him to either hold it or have it fall on top of him.

“You’re late!” Ironhide barked from the ship.

“Yeah, yeah, might’ve slept in. Sorry, sir.” His tone was as unapologetic as usual but the wink he offered to Ratchet threw the older mech for a loop. He pushed forward from the other end of the crate, causing Ratchet to stumble backwards and assist him in carrying it towards the ship.

“Is there a reason you’re making me carry this?” Ratchet grumbled as he shuffled awkwardly along.

“None other than you just happened to be there. This thing is heavy,” Wheeljack chuckled but the medic failed to see what was so funny about the situation. 

He gave the younger mech a frustrated glare and reigned in the questions burning at his processor, instead asking a simpler, “What’s in it?” They made it to the back of the ship and stepped up the ramp leading into the cargo hold. Something jostled inside the crate at the shift in angle, spiking Ratchet’s curiosity.

“Extra Dinobot processors. Just in case,” Wheeljack stated matter-of-factly with an easy shrug. He seemed terribly at ease with the situation and it infuriated Ratchet to no end. _Were they not going to talk about what happened?_ He supposed this wasn’t really the place, but at least some _acknowledgement_ would help calm his fury.

“In case of what?!” he barked.

“We need more Dinobots… why else?” Wheeljack gave him an inquisitive look but didn’t comment on it, falsely assuming he was in one of his _moods_.

“You want to make _more_?” Ratchet scoffed as he practically dumped the crate onto the floor of the ship once they stopped moving.

“Yeah, why not?” Wheeljack set his end down far more gently, before adding, “Be careful with this, alright?”

“I’ll tell you why not! Proper field tests on the ones we have _now_ need to be conducted before more are made. Do you know how out of our usual range of science these things are? They’re far different from the cold constructs and clones the Decepticons are experimenting with. They’re entirely _servo_ made, their coding is experimental, there’s no telling what kind of consciousness they’ll experience when they’re out in the field! The tests we ran here in a controlled environment cannot possible equivalate to the battlefield-”

“Hey, are you okay?” Wheeljack interrupted his bitter tirade, optics filled with concern, “I already know all of that. I was just… looking forward to working with you again, I guess. Thought what we did here was pretty great.”

“Oh.” His tenacity drained at the genuinity to Wheeljack’s words, quickly replaced with a flood of embarrassment for snapping. “O-of course, and… yes, I’m okay.” Wheeljack clearly didn’t remember last night’s events or he would have said something by now, and guilt made its comeback when Ratchet realized he was holding a grudge against something the bot had no control over. “I-I have to go. Uh, good luck training them…” He stood up and backed away as his plating shifted up defensively.

“Wait, Ratchet, I-”

“See you around, Wheeljack,” Ratchet cut him off before he could say anything more and stepped off the ship with a wave. The ship’s doors hissed shut despite Wheeljack’s muffled protests and Ratchet made quick leave of the hangar bay. It was soon cleared and the ship lifted off; an empty feeling filled Ratchet’s spark as he watched it go. He’d miss the engineer, despite their recent folly.

.｡..｡..｡. .｡.

Without the distractions that came with said mech Ratchet completed the Bridge Project with due diligence. It only took him another few megacycles before everything ran smoothly. He named their product the Groundbridge: a portal technology that took a bot from anywhere on the planet’s surface to anywhere else with the punching in of a few coordinates and the flip of a switch. Of course the science behind it was more complicated than that but Ratchet dumbed it down enough for the officers of Team Prime to understand during their video chat. Optimus was proud of him for the accomplishment, which Ratchet brushed off modestly and answered that he simply recalibrated ancient calculations into modern technology. He was shocked later when Prime asked him privately if he would meet the team on the planet’s surface.

“You-you want me to what?”

“Join my team,” Optimus responded, before quickly adding a polite, “please.”

“You don’t need me. First Aid has been functioning just fine as your field medic. Surely my skills are needed elsewhere, I-”

“ _Ratchet_ ,” his voice was stern over the comm link, “You have been resisting being by my side for _stellar cycles_ now.”

“Hmm, yes…”

“Will my Chief Medical Officer please join my team on the surface of Cybertron? It has been some time since you have operated as a medic in the field I know, but I trust your judgement more than any other. You are more than capable.”

“Optimus…”

“Please consider. In the meantime we will have the engineering core manufacture your Groundbridge and implement them as soon as time will allow. You may oversee the construction as you see fit, but when you are ready I would like you to transfer to my team.” The finality of the last statement registered even through Ratchet’s stubborn helm. He nodded, then remembered Optimus could not see him through a comm link and responded affirmative.

“Yes, Optimus. I’ll see to it that it gets done. I… guess I’ll see you soon.”

And with that the Autobot’s Chief Medical Officer finally joined Team Prime and became their field medic. He had been resisting since the start of the war for reasons he had long since understood, but held onto out of sheer stubbornness and spite. It probably had to do with what occured between them before the war, something Ratchet nor the leader of the Autobots were quick to remember. It was history now, but the feelings stuck.

The team threw a welcoming party in his honor when he finally arrived. It had been Ironhide’s idea, of course. The other warriors had joined in simply for the promise of high grade, which Ratchet avoided like the plague after his last mishap with it. Most of them were not acquainted with Ratchet personally, but they soon would be.

.｡..｡..｡. .｡.

It was all too soon before he was thrown back into the thick of things, and Ratchet had not missed it one bit. The barrage of canonfire overhead did little to dissuade him from his job, but he did wish the working conditions were of higher quality. He massaged a nanite salve into a gaping wound in Cliffjumper’s thigh and snapped at the mech to be quiet when he griped about not being in the heat of battle, he was _fine_ , it was just a scratch.

“Trust me, Cliffjumper. I want to be here just as much as you do,” he growled as he put his medkit back into subspace, “As you can no longer walk, you’re sitting the rest of this out. Maybe next time don’t unnecessarily charge at the enemy, hmm?” The assassin continued to grumble his woes as Ratchet called for an escort. He needed to get the red racer back to base before he himself got shot and the other bot got shot _again_.

“We’re sending someone to your position now,” the commanding officer of the brigade they were fighting alongside barked back. Ratchet hoped they would send a bigger mech to help. Cliffjumper would need some assistance walking and Ratchet didn’t feel like putting his strength to the test picking him up. His optics widened in surprise when he got one of the largest mechs he’d ever seen running up to them, and his surprise furthered when he recognized the mech to be _Grimlock_.

“Me Grimlock here to help!” the Dinobot chirped proudly. Before Ratchet could shut his gaping intake to respond the mech quickly transformed into his monstrous alt mode, unhinged his jaw, and shot fire over the medic’s helm. Ratchet could feel the heat from above and ducked away from it before it bordered on painful. He heard the sound of a flight mode of sorts crashing into the ground behind him and could connect the dots easily when Grimlock transformed back.

“Th-thank you,” Ratchet exvented, appreciating the save, “Can you carry Cliffjumper back to base, please?”

“Aw what? Why does the drone get nice manners but not me?” the assassin protested. He frowned with displeasure when the massive creature picked him up and held him to his chest.

“Shut up you,” Ratchet sniped back. He pinged the commander their quardanants and felt a ripple of pleasure when the green swirl of the groundbridge opened up before them. He still couldn’t get over the fact that _he_ did that, it was an actuality now, not only a theory. A glance at Grimlock bolstered that feeling of pride and he couldn’t keep down a small smile. Once they stepped through the portal and arrived at their current base of operations, Ratchet led them towards the medbay. He hadn’t gotten a chance to use it yet and he was excited to break it in himself. First Aid greeted him there, a spritely young red and white combiner whom Ratchet had personally trained at the Iaconian Medical Institute.

“Again, Cliffjumper?” First Aid tsked once the bot was unceremoniously dropped onto the medbirth by Grimlock.

“I didn’t get my designation for being a safe mech, now did I?” Cliffjumper grunted with pain of the fall.

“No, I suppose not,” the ambulance hummed in response. He pulled out his med scanner and began running diagnostics. Ratchet would have joined in on the fun if it weren’t for the big roadblock in the room. He turned to Grimlock with a raised optical ridge.

“Was there something you needed? You can go back now,” he said in his attempt to usher Grimlock out.

“No,” the Dinobot replied simply, unmoving, “Mission not over.”

“What do you mean, it’s not over? You delivered Cliffjumper for me. That was all I needed.” Ratchet placed his servos on his hip flares and fixed the bot with a disapproving glare. _Oh sure, so he was suddenly speech-capable but he couldn’t take proper orders?_

“But me Grimlock supposed to stay here and keep creator safe. Other creator want see you, need me stay so he find you.” _What did_ that _mean?_

“Ridiculous, you need to-”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to, Grimlock. Ratchet, can I have your help please?” First Aid interrupted, catching the other medic’s attention. He motioned to Cliffjumper for emphasis and Ratchet rolled his optics. He moved around Grimlock’s hulking form with some difficulty and set to work.

It wasn’t until cycles later when the battle was long over and the flood of injured fighters petered out did Ratchet finally understand what Grimlock meant. During that time the Dinobot repeatedly got in the way as he and First Aid worked, much to the older medic’s frustration. It took a great amount of convincing from them both that Ratchet would be safe, even if Grimlock stayed out in the waiting area, did he finally leave. But now everything was quiet and Ratchet might have forgotten the dino’s persistence if it weren’t for the much smaller mech sitting in the waiting room in his stead. Ratchet eyed him on his way out of the medbay.

“Wheeljack,” he greeted, delighted surprise coursing through him for the second time this solar cycle.

“Hey, doc. How’s it hummin’?” Wheeljack stood from his seat in one of the plush waiting chairs and waltzed over. “Miss me?”

“Not much to miss,” Ratchet snorted, nearly offended by the cliché pick-up line. He’d rather not think about the implications too hard lest he give himself something to hope for. “And everything is _humming_ just fine. Although it would hum much finer if you wouldn’t use that silly nickname anymore.”

“C’mon, you know you find it endearing.” Wheeljack followed after him like some lost turbofox as the medic carried on past.

“I do not.” 

The two fell into a comfortable silence for a while after that. Ratchet hadn’t a clue where Wheeljack planned to be but he was heading to his quarters for some much needed recharge. It was nice to have some company on the long walk there from the medbay for a change.

“Hey, can we talk about somethin’?” Wheeljack piped up after a while. The furtive look he gave Ratchet as they strolled through the base’s halls had the older mech anxious. “Listen, about that night at the club...”

“You remember?” Ratchet’s spark suddenly leapt into his intake and it took all his self control not to shout in his shock. 

“Yeah? Who wouldn’t! Heh, you-”

“Why didn’t you say anything? This whole time I thought you were too overcharged to!”

“Really? Well sorry, I just thought you wanted to keep it on the DL.”

“The what?”

“On the _down low_. Sweet Solus Prime, how old are you?” Wheeljack rolled his optics but his tone was light and playful, “Anyways, I haven’t said anything ‘cause you’ve been busy, with the groundbridge and joinin’ Team Prime and all. I brought it up _now_ because I-”

“It was a mistake.” Ratchet blurted out before he could stop himself. He didn’t need Wheeljack telling him what he already knew. “We were overcharged and… it-it didn’t mean anything. Let’s… just pretend nothing happened.” The resignation in his words burned on his glossa but he knew it to be the truth, as much as he didn’t want it to.

“Wait, what? You… you think it was a mistake?” the younger mech’s voice was softer than it had been earlier, the playfulness all but disappeared.

“Clearly. It’s not like we would do that sober. We hardly know each other.” The latter statement had the medic cringing as it was not entirely true. He certainly knew a lot about Wheeljack after their time together. But the younger mech had only scratched the surface of himself.

“Yeah… I guess…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Ratchet, why do you have to be so difficult?
> 
> This chapter was really hard for me to write and I’m not entirely sure why. I was stuck on it for weeks and had to delete and rewrite it several times before things fit together how I liked them.


	6. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I gonna make it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Going Back by Openside is the song of the day (playlists on YT and Spotify)! Big time skip between the last chapter and here, several thousand years if y’all don’t catch it. Originally this chapter was going to be longer but then it ended up being too long so I split it in two. Enjoy (o)
> 
> Also trigger warning for light gore (canon-typical) and medical descriptions at the end of the third section.

_::Require immediate assistance. Bring medical kit. Tell no one. Could take a while. Password: Sunshine.::_

Ratchet focused on the message hovering on his HUD, reading it over and over again as if the more he looked at it the easier it would be to unravel its mysteries. Not that there really were any mysteries to solve. He had already traced the frequency signal to the salt flats of Bitrex, deep within Decepticon territory. That was cause for concern. It was on a channel exclusive for Autobot spies and their handlers which he found rather odd, but explained the location. He had an idea as to why he was being messaged over said handlers. It was specific to him; this person needed his help with something. And it was from a specific someone… someone he hadn’t talked to for a very long time.

With a shaky vent Ratchet stood up and hurried to make plans. He would need medical grade energon, lots of it if anything the “ _could take a while_ ” bit of the message told him, his medscanner, the medkit obviously, some mid-grade energon rations, etc, etc…

.｡..｡..｡. .｡.

“Why do you need a megacycle’s leave again?” Optimus pressed, casting Ratchet a curious glance over the datapad he was handed.

“That’s my business,” Ratchet replied succinctly. He didn’t have time to explain, the mech could be bleeding out at this very moment and the thought had him on edge.

“Of course,” the Prime nodded, handing the datapad back, “May I know where it is you will be journeying to?”

“I’ll let you know if there’s trouble,” Ratchet shot back, the corner of his derma flicking up into the hint of a smirk.

“Very well. Enjoy your break, old friend.”

“Yeah yeah, try not to die while I’m gone.” Ratchet waved his hand in dismissal and made his leave of Optimus’s office. The taller mech’s derma flashed with a smirk of his own so quickly Ratchet hardly had time to pick up on it before he left. It had him smiling all the more as he walked back to the medbay to collect his things. He would leave the team in the capable servos of First Aid while he was gone on this surprise secret mission. He just hoped nobody would be in too much trouble in his time away.

.｡..｡..｡. .｡.

He groundbridged himself into the heart of the city, not wanting the exact destination to show up in the bridge logs. Bitrex was abandoned, formerly a prosperous city that specialized in the construction of space-faring vehicles. Now it was nothing more than a scrap heap, a resting place for hundreds of rusting, lifeless husks of former Cybertronians. It left a sour taste in Ratchet’s intake as he stepped through the remamanents of early war carnage to find a functional road out of the city. He transformed into his vehicle mode and took off once he was headed in his desired direction, following the persistent ping on his HUD. 

The salt flats of Bitrex were just as drab and run down as the city itself had been. Ratchet was unimpressed as he drove out across the blank expanse of white rock before him. He wasn’t exactly sure why he had been summoned here of all places. It was quite possibly the worst hiding place for a spy. As he drove over the salt he was surprised at the ease of speed and mobility the flat, dusty ground provided, but he won’t be so happy in the future when he’s wiping the chaffing salt out of his gears.

Everything began to make sense when Ratchet was led to the edge of a deep schism that split the ground in fragments. He transformed out of his vehicle mode and glared over the edge, frowning worriedly. He hadn’t prepared for a climbing excursion. Perhaps he had been messaged because he was stuck down there? With a broken limb that needed repairing? Ratchet shook his helm before hauling himself over the edge and climbing down in apprehensive tentativeness.

Reaching the bottom was no easy task. His vents were filled with the dust of salt and every time he attempted to cough it out of his systems he feared the jolt would crumble the fragile wall gripped in his servos. It took nearly a cycle to get down to the bottom of the crevice, and even then he saw no sign of the mech he was looking for. It was a tight fit as Ratchet wandered the chalky path at the base of the maze with nothing but the sound of his pedesteps to fill the stilted silence.

He was unsure if anyone was even down here until the quiet was disturbed by a deep groan echoing off the steep walls. His pedes came to a halt as he focused on where the sound had come from. After turning his gaze and shuffling back the way he came, his optics focused on a split in the wall that led off to a sheltered cave he had not noticed before. This was it, he was sure of it. The split was a struggle to squeeze through, scraping the paint off of his armour plating in some areas. He grit his dentae through the discomfort and wedged himself through the tight opening, reaching the other side in a huff. 

“Wheeljack?!” Ratchet called out into the black abyss before him. The light was dimming outside and the trench itself was mostly shaded from the sun, but here nothing could be seen inside. He clicked on his headlights and moved deeper into the cave. A few steps in and they were flashing over a prone form on the floor, surrounded by a pool of energon. Ratchet rushed forwards as another groan ricoheted through the cave, the sense of emergency kicking in his medic protocols.

“Was beginnin’ t-to wonder if you’d… ever show,” a voice he hadn’t heard in eons trembled with pain, but still hinted with the bravado he was so familiar with. He knelt down beside the mech, taking in his injured state. His right arm was dislocated at the shoulder, barely held to his torso by a few wires and cables. There was a deep gouge crusted with dried energon on his left side and his plating was littered in tiny teeth marks. The damage showed obvious signs of a scraplet encounter.

“I should have gotten here sooner, I had trouble navigating the-” he muttered as he pulled out his medscanner and began checking Wheeljack for signs of internal injury. He cringed when it was revealed that several of his biomechanical organs had ruptured. It seemed like the scraplets had found their way beneath Wheeljack’s protective plating and had feasted on his internal components. It explained the massive hole in his side, likely the breech point, as well as the unhinged arm. The cabling that once connected it had been chewed clean off.

“Don’t worry about it… I-I’m glad you’re here now,” he choked out, a grimace of a smile twisting his face plates, “Think you can… can fix me, doc?”

“It would be preferable if I could take you to my lab and work there.” Ratchet was already hooking his hardline into Wheeljack’s medical port to dampen his pain receptors. From there he worked quickly on opening up his frame to get to the more pressing internal damage. It seemed like Wheeljack had already cauterized his fuel lines, but the patchwork was rudimentary at best. Ratchet was grateful for it despite the poor workmanship… If Wheeljack hadn’t then he would have bled out cycles ago.

“No can do. I-I’m on a…” Wheeljack shifted as he shook his helm, gritting his dentae as he did so. His optics flickered as Ratchet began easing him into stasis.

“A secret mission, I gathered that. Now if you’d be quiet and hold _still_...”

Cycles went by as Ratchet put Wheeljack back together piece by piece. Wheeljack likely would have gone into shock if he hadn’t put him into medical stasis. The sight of one’s internal organs being soldered together usually did that to a mech. He pumped medical grade energon into his tank once he repaired all the damaged fuel lines. Without any replacement cabling available for the mutilated arm all Ratchet could do was dress the wound and trust that the medical grade would stimulate Wheeljack’s repair nanites into synthesizing new ones on their own. Luckily he had plating patches on servo in his medkit that he could weld over the hole in the other’s side.

Once all the important life threatening injuries had been attended to, and the medic felt confident Wheeljack wouldn’t offline on him, did he finally pause in his work to rest. He had been online for well over the time his systems could function for and it would be more helpful to fall into recharge now than risk harming the engineer later with a faulty patch job. He scooted himself away from the mech after cleaning up his tools, just far enough away where he would be alerted if Wheeljack’s condition changed at all in the night. With his exhausted state from traveling so far and working so hard, recharge came easily.

.｡..｡..｡. .｡.

As Ratchet onlined his optics the next morning he nearly jolted in surprise when he did not awake to his quarters at the base. Memories of the painstaking work he performed last night to save Wheeljack’s life flooded his processor and reminded him that he was in some cave buried deep in the salt flats of Bitrex. He sat up with a groan, his frame sore after a night sleeping on the ground rather than his semi-comfortable berth.

A glance to his left confirmed that Wheeljack was indeed right where he left him and still in a medical-induced stasis. It would expedite the self-repair system’s processes the longer he stayed like that, but Ratchet was unsure the last time the younger mech had eaten something and he himself was rather famished. A growl from his tank reaffirmed this notion and the medic shuffled over to his pack to pull out a cube of energon. As he drank he plugged into Wheeljack’s medport and sent in the code to revive him from stasis. It took a few kliks; the systems reboot resistant with all the damages the mech was suffering from. Eventually the engineer awoke, his optics flickering online as he did so.

“Doc?” he croaked as optics surveyed the cave, groggily searching for the medic, “You still here?”

“Yes. Where else would I be?” Ratchet scooted over to sit beside him and pulled Wheeljack up to lean against him. He brought a cube of energon to his lip plates as he demanded, “Fuel up.” 

Wheeljack grimaced as he was jostled, still in a bit of pain even with the receptors dampened, but did as he was asked. “Am I gonna make it?” he murmured quietly after his first sip.

“I predict a full recovery. You’re welcome.” Ratchet persisted with more energon and wouldn’t let up until Wheeljack had downed half the cube. He let the mech take a break when he was satisfied.

“Thanks,” he chuckled, “Owe you my life, don’t I?”

“Let’s call it even. Remember that time you saved me in the field?”

“Oh yeah…” A small smile flicked over his lip plates at the memory. “That was a long time ago.”

“Hmm, yes, I suppose it was.” To Wheeljack anyways. The period was just another milestone in time for Ratchet. “Now can you tell me how you were half eaten by scraplets?”

Wheeljack grimaced at the mention of the murderous pests, shifting uncomfortably against Ratchet’s shoulder plating. “Not much of a story. We were supposed to be in and out of Bitrex real quick, but things got messy when we uncovered a whole hive of ‘em.” 

After he took another sip Ratchet pressed for details. “And? Why were you in Bitrex in the first place? It’s dead, there’s nothing of value except scrap metals and spare parts.”

“Exactly, that’s what we were there for. Collecting them and such for the medics. Then Breakdown gets the big idea to head inside a building to look for less weathered bodies, which seemed a good idea at the time. We regretted that choice when we found the place eaten out by the vermin. Half our team was destroyed by the things, eaten alive.” Ratchet could feel a shiver pass through the mech as he recalled the events. “Don’t know who all got outta there. I peeled out as fast as I could, fell down here. I was delirious with pain at the time, didn’t know who to call for help. My first thought was you.” Ratchet felt his spark clench at that. It was an innocent omission, but one that pleased him more than he’d care to admit.

“I never authorized anyone to collect spare parts from the _deceased_. Let alone in Decepticon territory,” Ratchet was horrified at the thought and it reflected in his tone, “Who said you could do this?”

“Wasn’t for the Autobot medics.” Wheeljack offered him a playful smirk, the one he used when he knew more about something than Ratchet.

“ _What_?”

“I’m undercover, or at least I’m supposed to be. Created this team called the Wreckers a little while back. We were given the mission to join the Decepticons and gain some intel on their science projects. Got saddled with the medical side of things instead.”

“You’re playing nurse then, hmm?”

“Nah. Breakdown’s having a pretty good go at it though. I’m still tryin’ to stay on mission and get in with Shockwave, but that one-optic freak’s got his lab on lockdown. Won’t let just anybody in.”

“Good luck with that,” Ratchet let out an amused huff, “I remember working with Shockwave before the war. He was… very _particular_ about things.”

“Got that right,” Wheeljack scoffed, “We’re nothin’ but grunts for now. That’s why we got saddled with the dirty work here in Bitrex.” He stared down at the last dregs of the energon in his cube, worry passing over his features as he exvented a deep sigh, “I really hope Bulkhead’s okay.”

“Bulkhead?”

“I told you about him a while back. Big green mech, we went through boot camp together?” Ratchet nodded, vaguely recalling the stories Wheeljack had regaled to him in their time on Lunar I together. “He was with us on the scrap mission. I… didn’t see him get torn to pieces, but… I didn’t see him get out either.””

He gave him a sympathetic look. “You got away. It seems likely he would have too.”

“But I-”

“Ehp ehp ehp, finish your energon please. I need to put you back into stasis and fix a few more things.” He coaxed Wheeljack into downing the last few sips of energon and was pleased when the younger mech went back into stasis without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit I like writing medical scenes! Also this is definitely my favorite chapter so far >w<


	7. Admission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whaddya say? Wanna try something when we get outta here?"
> 
> "Yes... I'd like that very much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Cry Baby by The Neighborhood captures them pretty well here (I'm sure y’all know the drill by now, but just in case: find the playlists on YT and Spotify by searching for the fic title). Also prepare yourself for some tooth rotting fluff! And lots of feels right after!!!

Time went by slowly alone in that cave with Wheeljack. He got bored rather quickly and wished he had at least brought his holocards or a datapad to read in order to entertain himself when he wasn’t busy with fixing Wheeljack and the mech wasn’t awake for company. For fear that a Decepticon seeker detail passing by overhead could catch him wandering the trench in the open, Ratchet did not leave the cave. He had memorized every nook and cranny of the place to occupy his time, which led to his discovery that the cave system continued on deeper beyond the primary entrance. The tunnels were far too small for him to move through and that disappointed the medic greatly. 

With nothing else to do in the time Wheeljack rested before his next nanite salve application, Ratchet stared up at the ceiling and recounted all the stalactites overhead. Fifty three of them to be exact… or, wait. Fifty four? Ratchet had been sure he counted them all correctly yesterday… His optics widened in surprise when upon closer inspection he discovered the new formation not to be a stalactite at all, but a bolt-bat! He grinned and shuffled over to Wheeljack, swatting at the younger mech’s leg gently to rouse him from recharge.

“Wha-”

“Shh!” Ratchet hissed, a digit pressed to his derma in a motion of silence.

 _::What’s going on?::_ Wheeljack chirped over their comm link.

 _::Look!::_ The medic motioned upwards at the tiny frame resting on the ceiling. He had set up some simple lamps in the cave long ago that provided enough light for them to see.

 _::Oh scrap, don’t those eat us too?!::_ Wheeljack lurched backwards, triggering a painful reaction. He grit his dentae to quiet a groan of pain.

 _::Yes, but only when they’re fully grown. This one appears to be a sparkling.::_ After a brief once over Ratchet deemed Wheeljack was okay enough not to interfere.

_::I thought the Well wasn’t working anymore. How’d it get here?::_

_::Mechanimals have other more rudimentary means of reproduction.::_

_::Ohhh I see.::_ Wheeljack waggled his optical ridges at Ratchet suggestively. The medic rolled his optics and scoffed in response. _::Its creators gotta be around here somewhere then. Should we be worried?::_

 _::No. I’ve already investigated the smaller tunnels that branch out from here. They would be too small for an adult bolt-bat to fit through. And_ she _is a femme. You can tell by the size of her wings, they’re larger than a mech’s would be.::_

_::Since when did you know so much about the local fauna of Bitrex?::_

_::I pride myself in my knowledge of mechanology. That includes mechanimals.::_ Wheeljack snorted in response but made no further comment.

The two continued to watch their new roommate in silence, easing their backs against the wall of the cave. Wheeljack drifted off into recharge again while Ratchet simply observed, happy he had something to occupy his time with. She was a tiny little thing, and could probably fit into the palm of his servo if he attempted to grab her. Not that he would. It was surprising that something so small would grow up to be a flying creature large enough to easily prey upon Cybertronians. Luckily most bolt-bats kept to cave systems such as this one and posed no real threat if one was careful. She had purple plating, with a circlet of yellow around her neck cables. He was curious to see what her optic color was, but assumed they were red as was the most common color in her species.

Ratchet did not notice himself fall into recharge until he began to stir awake. As his optics clicked online and began to focus on his surroundings, he found he had been leaning against Wheeljack while in recharge. His systems flooded with embarrassment at the revelation and he quickly scooted away. In his haste he knocked over his frame welder and it fell to the ground with a clang. The sound reverberated through the cave and emphasized his embarrassment, especially when it disturbed the little bolt-bat who began screeching her surprise at the sudden noise.

“What in the Pits?” Wheeljack grumbled as his optics came online. He glanced over at Ratchet with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“Sorry.” The medic shrugged as he put the tool away in his subspace. “Knocked it over.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Wheeljack snorted, “You good? You seem… I dunno, flustered.”

“I’m fine,” Ratchet mumbled before directing his attention to their distressed guest. She continued to wail, as her wide open optics (which he was delighted to discover were in fact a vibrant magenta color) trained on them. Looking for some way to calm her down and seem as non-threatening as possible, his optics settled on his rations pack and he decided to try something. The medic opened it up and fished around for the energon gummies he had brought along, popping one out and holding it up as a peace offering. “Shh, little one, we mean you no harm,” he whispered softly, and held out his open palm with the treat nestled upon it. 

The bolt-bat sparkling quieted as the smell of energon punctured the room, and her optics soon settled on the food. She cautiously flew closer to Ratchet before perching on a nearby stalagmite. 

“I’m sorry to disturb your nap,” he soothed, placing the treat on the ground closer to her. The mechanimal stiffened when he neared, but quickly relaxed as he moved away again.

“Oh I see how it is,” Wheeljack laughed from behind him, “Cute one gets all the apologies but here I was asleep too and I get none.”

“Hush,” Ratchet hissed as he watched the bolt-bat flap away from the stalagmite and circle the goodie before landing atop it and clawing at it like she would a piece of prey. An almost giddy feeling overcame him, a much better alternative to the burning embarrassment he felt a few kliks earlier, as he watched her cautiously nip at the gummy. She must have liked the sweet flavor that hit her glossa because immediately after the initial taste she began to tear into it with tiny but devastatingly sharp fangs. Her little glossa lapped up the carnage until it was all gone before she flapped away and clung back up on the ceiling.

“I’m your injured patient, shouldn’t I be the one getting the tender loving care around here?” Wheeljack continued once Ratchet settled back down against their wall. It was another innocuous statement but it had Ratchet’s faceplates heating up just the same. He cringed internally at how easy it was for this mech to get to him even after all these metacycles apart. The medic pulled out his medscanner anyways just to make sure Wheeljack was recovering on track.

“Hey, I recognize that thing!” the younger mech announced after a moment of watching him work, “That’s the same one I built for ya, isn’t it?” He looked incredulous as he ogled Ratchet tap away at the readings. The medic paused and glanced up at him, his spark doing somersaults in its chamber.

“Y-yes it is.” He quickly rebooted his vocalizer when it fritzed with static at the heavy laden emotions he was suddenly overwhelmed with.

“Wow, you’ve kept that thing this whole time?”

“It works fine,” Ratchet responded, his tone short, “Why would I part with it?”

“I dunno. Figured something might’ve happened to it like the last one.” Wheeljack shrugged, but he seemed awfully pleased. “Do ya think about me every time you use it?” he teased.

“N-no.” _Yes._ “What kind of question is that?” His dissembling was falling apart with each nanoklik that went by.

“I’m just jokin’. Did you ever adjust any of the coding like I showed you?”

“I haven’t changed it much. Like I said, it works fine.” Wheeljack almost seemed disappointed for a moment before Ratchet quickly added, “Those lessons did turn out to be rather useful. I developed the skill in my own time for curiosity’s sake and have used it more times than I can count now that we’re… lacking in properly trained personnel. I seem to be the default for most things remotely scientific.”

“You and me both,” Wheeljack sighed his agreement, “The Wreckers aren’t exactly the brightest bucket of bolts if you know what I mean.” He let out a small chuckle. “Bulkhead is a complete klutz. He always manages to break some tool or other of mine, what with those big pedes of his. I’d say it’s annoying but I love the guy too much to care, ya know?” 

Ratchet nodded his understanding before pausing as a warning sign popped up on his HUD. He read the alert and frowned when he realized he had missed Wheeljack’s salve application. The engineer and their new friend had thoroughly distracted him from ever getting started on the task. 

“Tell me more about the Wreckers. You bring them up all the time but… I’m not really sure who they all are,” Ratchet suggested as he moved towards his medkit to prepare. Wheeljack watched him with brightened optics. He seemed eager to talk about his friends.

“Ah, just a band of misfits. Let’s see, we got myself, the foxy rebel.” Ratchet snorted as he came back over to Wheeljack and began massaging the salve into the wound on his side. “Bulkhead, the clumsy idiot; Breakdown, the hot headed hammer; Seaspray, the barnacle brain; Whirl, the weird one-“

“I’d hate to find out what’s weird in that odd assortment.”

“There’s a few other mechs too. We’re the ones who don’t play well with others is all I can really say, but because of that we seem to take the missions no one else wants. The dangerous stuff. It’s why we got stuck with this undercover bullslag. It’s grinding my gears, I’ll tell you that. I’m this close to punching Starscream in the face.” Wheeljack pinched his pointer digit and thumb flat together.

“That close, hmm?” Ratchet huffed with no small amount of surprise, “What are you doing with him?

“Whatever it is that Shockwave's working on is important enough to have the Second-in-Command oversee it. We’ve been put under his command and it’s fraggin’ annoying. But enough about me. How are you? Team Prime treatin’ you well?”

“Yes, actually. I wouldn’t say I enjoy my work, it’s hard to find anything worth being happy about in this day and age, but…” he sighed, “They’re good to me.”

“That’s good to hear,” Wheeljack mumbled softly. 

Ratchet was not one to brag, but he prided himself in his servos. They were crafted to meet the demands of the intricate work required of a medic. Lined with hundreds of sensors beneath thin but sturdy plating, they were trained to feel the slightest shift in temperature, tweak in circuitry, pulse in spark rate. The cognizancy had saved numerous lives with nothing but a gentle touch in the right place alerting Ratchet to a fatal flaw. Now as he slipped his digits along Wheeljack’s warped plating the tremors that shuddered through the mech following the motions were like tiny earthquakes against him, where to another they would have been completely imperceptible. His hitches in vents like aftershocks to Ratchet’s sensitive servos as he dipped them into transformation seams to rub the salve in deeper.

The thought of what his ministrations were doing to the usually brazen mech had his spark whirring faster within its chamber. It was a routine procedure and he had done this thousands of times before, but leaning in so close to this mech in particular and touching him in otherwise unreachable places bordered the fine line between professionalism and intimacy. It had long buried feelings rushing back into his processor. The dam finally burst when Ratchet’s optics flickered up to meet Wheeljack’s only to find they were already on him. Reflected back at him was a desire so intense his ventilation system clicked to a halt all together and stalled, leaving them in a breathless silence as they stared into each other’s gaze. Ratchet hadn’t even realized he’d paused his work at that moment, servos stilled on Wheeljack’s plating. The metal was warm to the touch and abdominal cabling twitched beneath.

“ _Ratchet._ ” The breathy sigh that passed the other mech’s lip plating sent shivers through the medic’s spinal struts. If his spark hadn’t been spinning fast in its chamber before, it certainly was now, so quickly in fact that he feared he was suffering from a core meltdown. He jolted out of his reverie in enjoying the feel of Wheeljack’s heat beneath his digits when the other’s functional servo met his own. A spark of charge flashed between them and they both let out small gasps of surprise. As if the shock had been painful, although it was quite the opposite, Ratchet lept back and scrambled away from his patient.

“I-I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed as he stood to his pedes, “That was incredibly unprofessional! I shouldn’t have- If I’ve made you uncomfortable-”

“Hey hey, calm down!” Wheeljack shot his servo out in a gesture of peace. “That wasn’t uncomfortable, it was… actually kinda nice,” he admitted with a shrug. It was a poor attempt at coming across as aloof, as Ratchet could just barely make out in the faint glow of his emergency lamps that the younger mech was blushing. He was sure his own face plates were flushed blue with embarrassment as well. The medic stood in silence for a few kliks as the tension between them grew palpable.

“Still, I must apologize. That was improper of me to… linger… in the way that I did.” Ratchet’s face plates were on fire at this point and his servos curled into fists at his sides.

“No harm, no foul.” Wheeljack was attempting to be accommodating, patting the space next to him. “C’mere, let’s talk.”

“I-I… I can’t.”

“Why not?” Wheeljack’s optics were imploring as he stared deep into Ratchet’s. 

He was met with silence, Ratchet unmoving under his powerful gaze. The mech sighed with resignation and leaned back against the cave wall.

“That’s alright, I guess I’ll talk first.” His gaze drifted from the medic to the servos that lay open in his lap. “Listen Ratchet… there’s a reason you’re the first mech I called in my last moments before I thought I might die. There’s stuff I’ve… always wanted to say to you, but haven’t. I had my chance to, the last time we saw each other, but I bailed. I-I thought you didn’t feel the same way after you dismissed our kiss in the bar so easily.” Wheeljack exvented deeply and Ratchet’s spark trembled as he continued. “I really like you, Ratchet. Not to sound like a total newspark about it, but I do. Admittedly I’ve been around in our time apart but… I’ve always thought about you in the end. What I never told you.”

“Wheeljack…” Ratchet was floored. He had never expected a confession like that from the younger mech and his spark nearly sang with the praises. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t expect you to. But… if you want me too, I’d rather know sooner than later.”

The medic squatted down next to Wheeljack and leaned over him. His stare was careful and calculating but the engineer refused to waver beneath it. He even tilted his chin up, in a display of bravado or defiance Ratchet couldn’t tell.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly as his optics searched the younger mech for any sort of joke or fallacy. He didn’t understand why or how Wheeljack had come to care for him and the conflict was toiling between his spark and his processor on whether or not to believe it.

“Am I one to rush into things? Yes. I won’t lie about that.” His chuckle was lightsparked and his optics glistened with emotion. “But I’ve had a long time to think about this. You’re the one that I wan-”

Before he could say any more his lip plates were smothered by Ratchet’s own in a jarring attempt at a kiss. It left them both surprised: Wheeljack not expecting it and Ratchet shocked in his own abandon.

“S-sorry, I… I should’ve let you continue what you were saying.”

“No no, by all means, doc. Do continue,” Wheeljack practically purred the words, and it would have sent shivers down Ratchet’s spinal struts if it weren’t for that infuriating nickname. He shook his helm and scoffed, but decided to oblige anyways. He leaned in slowly this time, careful not to attack Wheeljack again with his blinding emotion. Their derma smoothed over each other sweetly, a gentle friction as they eased into the kiss. It had Ratchet audibly sighing and he could feel the smirk twitch over Wheeljack’s lip plating. Now _that_ sent shivers down his spinal strut.

It was probably the best kiss the two had shared together thus far, surpassing their grabby, overcharged makeout in that dingy lunar nightclub. Wheeljack lifted his left servo in order to cup Ratchet’s cheek plate, easing him deeper into the kiss. He rested a servo on the other’s functioning shoulder in return but didn’t put too much weight into it, fearing he would hurt Wheeljack if he did. His other servo held up his weight on the ground and he was on his knees stooping over the injured mech. It was an awkward position but he didn’t mind it so much when most of his attention was focused on what Wheeljack was doing with his derma.

Eventually they came to a stop, pulling away to vent deeply and cool down their heated frames. Ratchet sat back on the ground and scooted over to sit beside the mech. Wheeljack was sporting what could only be described as a slag-sucking grin as he watched the medic with optics dimmed in interest.

“I’ll take it you like me too, huh?”

“Stop looking at me like that.” Ratchet chose to ignore the engineer’s rhetorical question as well as the laughter escaping his intake. He shoved affectionately at the younger mech’s helm instead.

“So how come you wrote me off like that after the club?” Wheeljack pondered aloud once his amusement simmered down. His expression briefly flickered with something more serious before he settled on his usual easy smirk.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Ratchet mumbled, old guilt toiling in his tanks, “I figured you weren’t interested, that it was the high grade talking.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that. My feelings were genuine, even if the high grade gave me a little extra courage.” Wheeljack took Ratchet’s servo in his own and squeezed it affectionately. “Just think, if you had said something we coulda been doing this a long time ago.” The medic wanted to scoff at the latter statement but returned the gesture all the same. “Whaddya say? Wanna try something when we get outta here and I’m done undercover?”

“Yes,” Ratchet sighed deeply. A warm smile flickered across his face plates as his spark did somersaults. “I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH WE DID IT WE’RE HERE. I squeed so hard writing this chapter, and me being the sap that I am I teared up posting it. It's been a long time coming for these slag-brains to finally confess their feelings and ugh I just ;u; So happy for my boys. There’s still a lot of angst coming up tho, so buckle up and get ready.


	8. Accelerate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Heh, who knew an old bot like you had it in ya.”
> 
> “You take that back right now. I’m not old!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has R-18 materials inside (spoilers)!! If that makes you uncomfortable I have made it 100% skippable with zero important plot bunnies hidden within the diddly doo. There will be breaks that look like this {xx~~xxxxx~~xx} marking where foreplay begins to shift to something smexier, and it will appear again post-coitus so you know when it’s over. For future reference, I always break up parts like this.
> 
> Song of the day: Slow Down by Kim Petras. Goes really well when they canoodle ;) Y’all should know where to find the two playlists by now lol.

“C’mon doc, I’m practically good as new!”

“I will not clear you for duty until I can be sure your systems are running optimally,” Ratchet barked, “I don’t know what is classified as _medical care_ under the Decepticons so we are not leaving this cave until you are fully healed.” He forced Wheeljack to sit back down against the cave wall they had claimed as their spot and ran a systems diagnostic on him through the med port he connected himself to.

“I’m fine,” Wheeljack persisted, “If I’m gone too long the ‘Cons’ll be suspicious.”

“They think you’ve been eaten by scraplets. Trust me, I doubt they’ll worry.”

“And when I come back with a full recovery? That wouldn’t be suspicious to you?”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “At least you’ve made a recovery. I doubt the Decepticons would have given you that much.”

After the diagnostic was through and the information scrolled over Ratchet’s HUD, he unplugged himself from the port and began to remove Wheeljack’s arm cast. According to the diagnostic the cabling had repaired itself, and given the engineer didn’t overexert his right shoulder it would be like Wheeljack had said: good as new. The younger mech’s internal organs had stabilized and no longer risked rupturing with too much movement, and the hole in his side, while still ghastly, did not cause him as much pain. It would take megacycles to heal that wound properly and he was probably due for an armour replacement in the area. A new paint job would do him some good as well, as there wasn’t much Ratchet could do for the remnants of bite marks scouring his plating. 

“Give it a few more solar cycles and _then_ I’ll clear you for duty.” With the cast off he began examining the arm and shoulder to make sure the nanites had rebuilt everything correctly. When it checked out he logged the information into his data files and ceased in his examination. “Everything else is fine, but that hole in your side-”

“-Is a real pain in my side, I know,” he snickered in return. Ratchet felt the flicker of a smile tease at the corners of his lip plating as warmth bloomed in his chassis.

“You could say that,” Ratchet agreed. He splayed a servo out across the shoulder he had just been tending to, then dug a thumb beneath a transformation seam to massage at the cabling beneath. Wheeljack sighed and leant into the touch. His smirk melted down into a blissful smile and his optics dimmed under the attention.

Their time together after Wheeljack’s confession hadn’t seen many changes between their dynamics, but the physical affection was new. It was all they could do to entertain themselves in the time that passed between check ups as the engineer healed. Conversations lasted for hours as they sat side by side often regaling their wartime stories. Wheeljack had lots to say about his new friends as well as the accomplishments of their Dinobots. 

Ratchet enjoyed the latter stories more than the former, as they tended to be less gorey. His favorite was the time Wheeljack discovered they had the capability of speech. It had shocked Ratchet upon meeting Grimlock last time, and it seemed Wheeljack had been just as surprised by the discovery. Eventually the Dinobots had adapted so well to their environment that they wanted to strike out on their own. Wheeljack admitted he had been sad when Grimlock came to him that day as the group’s self professed leader and asked to be free of his command. But he allowed them their freedom and watched them figuratively ride off into the sunset together. In reality they were assigned a new mission and had left to accomplish it.

_“I want to make more of them one day. I’ve already got blueprints drawn up. You should take a look at them sometime,” Wheeljack had said._

_“Optimus has been pleased with their work.” Ratchet nodded along, entwining their digits together in a loose servohold. “So have I.”_

Thinking about it now had him smiling.

“What?” Wheeljack prompted as he took his shoulder from Ratchet’s grip. He rotated it a few times to stretch it out, then proceeded to flex his cabling in a small show of bravado. The medic snorted.

“Nothing. Just thinking that this is nice.” He stood and motioned for Wheeljack to follow. “Get up, we should do some physical therapy. You’ve been sitting on your aft for over two decacycles now.”

“Physical therapy, huh?” Wheeljack groaned as he moved. He leaned heavily against the wall once he was up and held his side. Discomfort was obvious on his faceplate as he looked to Ratchet. “I can think of some very therapeutic ways to get physical.” His tone resonated with desire but Ratchet wasn’t persuaded.

“Hah, you’re not interfacing in your condition.” _And he wanted to go back to his mission this morning_ , Ratchet thought, _insolent fool_.

“Who said anything about ‘facing? Although I’m flattered that was the first thing on your processor.” Wheeljack’s smirk was wicked and it sent shivers down the medic’s spinal struts. He opted to ignore the sudden rise of heat in the room and gripped Wheeljack’s arm to anchor him.

“Can you walk?”

Ratchet led him through a series of simple exercises that Wheeljack performed easily despite his discomfort. Stretching down to touch his pedes was the hardest thing for him to do, but it wasn’t so hard that he couldn’t shake his aft teasingly at Ratchet as he did so.

“See doc, I’m fine.” He smirked at the medic once it was all over. “Now about what we were discussing earlier…” The engineer reached out and tugged on Ratchet’s hip flares, pulling the medic closer and leering at him as his fans audibly clicked on.

“We are not doing anything that could jostle your wounds and reopen them,” Ratchet protested with a frown. He moved to step away from the engineer but his grip was locked tight.

“Does that mean you aren’t opposed to doing _something_?”

“Well, no…” Ratchet admitted. His face plates flushed with energon and he looked away.

“Then tell me, doc,” Wheeljack leaned forward and purred in the medic’s audial, “How far can we go in my state? I’d like to hit as many bases as I can before we leave.”

“I’m not interfacing with you in a _cave_ , Wheeljack.”

“Can’t exactly get privacy for this kinda thing anywhere else in the middle of a war, can we?” Wheeljack retorted. He thumbed at the seams of Ratchet’s hip flares, touching sensitive protoform between and making the medic shiver once more. “I keep hearing all these excuses but you haven’t actually told me _no_ yet. If you don’t want to, just say so.”

“I _do_ want to,” the words slipped past Ratchet’s derma before he had time to process them, but they were out now and he wouldn’t take back the truth. His cheek plates flushed deeper with color and he bit his lower lip plate in embarrassment at the admission. Wheeljack’s optics instantly brightened and his grin turned all the more lecherous. 

“Oh really? Then do tell me, how can we accomplish this without my busting a seam?” The teasing grind of their codpieces together had Ratchet stumbling forward and clawing at the other mech’s shoulder plating. He bit back a pant of want and quickly reset his vocalizer so he wouldn’t only spit static when he replied.

“I-If you… If I… uh…” Wheeljack lifted an optical ridge to prompt him further. Ratchet swallowed down a lump in his intake before he could continue. He avoided the younger mech’s imploring gaze as he spit out rather quickly, “If I rode your spike and you sat still, you should be fine.”

It took a nanoklik for Wheeljack to process his rushed words, but when he finally did his expression immediately flipped from teasing desire to full blown lust. “That sounds _perfect_ ,” he growled and stepped backwards until his back hit the cave wall, pulling Ratchet along with him.

Anxiety had Ratchet resisting following suit, not that he had much of a choice. It had been a long time since he had been with another mech and he wasn’t quite sure what he should do. _Did Wheeljack want him to take the lead? Or vice versa?_ “I-I don’t really know… how to initiate this.”

“I mean, we could start with you kissing me? That’s always nice,” Wheeljack crooned, politely holding back a chuckle. If it had been anyone else Ratchet would have thought they were mocking him, but with Wheeljack he knew it was only a tease. The medic squeezed his shoulder plating affectionately before leaning in and sweeping his derma up in a kiss. They practically melted into it as their lip plating slid together. Their servos wandered each other’s plating, dipping into transformation seams to brush cables and wires. They tried to touch all that they could as charge sparked between plating and digit tips. 

When Ratchet decided to take the initiative and kiss down Wheeljack’s jaw to his neck cabling, the younger mech’s optics flickered online with a touch of surprise. He moaned softly when dentae grazed against his main fuel line, which sent vibrations over Ratchet’s lip plating. The medic felt encouraged to venture farther, running his derma over chest plating, dipping his glossa between seams, teasing his dentae over sensitive spots that had Wheeljack trembling. Eventually he had to stoop to his knees before the mech to reach low enough as his glossa laved across his abdominal plating. Memories of what led to Wheeljack’s confession flashed through his processor and left a pleasant happiness tingling in his spark.

The happiness quickly flipped back to lust when his derma met the seam between his abdominal plating and pelvis. He glanced up at Wheeljack to make sure what he was doing was okay and the pleading look that met his optics answered the unspoken question. It was Ratchet’s turn to grin wickedly as his optics drifted down to the interface panel ripe before him. He puffed his exvents hotly against the metal and it had Wheeljack trembling once more. 

“Wait wait wait,” the mech huffed. His knee nudged Ratchet before his lip plating could connect with his panel.

“Is there something wrong?” Ratchet halted his advances and his anxiety returned full force.

“No, it’s just…” Wheeljack gazed down at Ratchet with a kind of affection he had never seen in the other’s gaze before. It sent his spark reeling with emotion. “Our EM fields. Do you… do you want to reveal them?”

The medic looked up at him with no small amount of shock. He hadn’t even thought about it. Naturally Cybertronians would have had them revealed at all times, but since the post-Golden Age days most mechs had field suppressors. It made slavery all the more easier when masters couldn’t feel the suffering they put their property through and with the war nobody wanted to brush fields with the enemy.

“Of course.” Ratchet nodded and racked his processor for the right coding to stall. Once he found the switch and flipped it he felt a sudden weight lift off his spark. He had forgotten what it felt like to release the suppressant. It was freeing to let his field disperse and mingle with the space around him. When something warm and heady licked at his fresh and sensitive field he gasped and clutched at Wheeljack’s thighs. The engineer had a similar reaction once he felt Ratchet’s field meld with his. The energy danced between them, sparking an electrifying charge as they both felt each other’s want for one another. The younger mech keened when Ratchet sent a flood of desire through their new connection.

{xxx~~xxxxx~~xxx}

It was a rather beautiful thing and he was grateful Wheeljack had brought it up, but he had come down here with a purpose and wouldn’t let it distract him. He laved his glossa over the other mech’s interface panel and shivered when a rush of lust raced through the other’s field. The metal was already hot under his touch and it didn’t need much coaxing to snap back for him. Wheeljack’s spike pressurized with an audible hiss and the mech shuddered when Ratchet’s exvents ghosted across him. It was a decent sized spike for Wheeljack’s frame class, white with red plating on the underside and blue biolights that ran in two parallel lines up the sides from base to tip. He was surprised to find that the underside had been modded with ribbing and rubbed his thighs together at the thought of how it would feel inside him.

“Like what you see?” Wheeljack’s voice had deepened with lust and his optics were blown wide for similar reasons.

“It certainly suits you,” Ratchet purred before running his glossa flat against the ribbing without warning. Whatever reply Wheeljack’s intake had been opened to say was cut off when he moaned deeply and rocked forward. Ratchet had to press his hips back against the wall with a servo before the younger mech took his intake before he was ready. He licked at the spike some more, running his glossa from base to tip, until he felt he had worked up enough oral lubricant to make the process run as smoothly as possible. Ratchet popped his intake over the head of the spike and sucked. Wheeljack’s unsteady moan was music to his audials as he swirled his glossa around the tip and bobbed his head a few times.

As he worked on sucking at the spike, he palmed at his own interface panels. Enough lubricant had already built itself up behind the plating that some was dripping through the seams. He would certainly have a mess to clean up when they were done but he didn’t care enough to worry about it now. After a few teasing strokes his panel snapped open and his own spike pressurized into his awaiting palm. He finally took more of Wheeljack’s spike further into his mouth, widening his jaw in order to accomodate. The ribs of the spike hit against his lower lip plate and glossa, triggering waves of pleasure in the other mech as he bobbed his helm in time to the stroking of his own spike. It clashed with his own desire through their mixed fields, which only served to increase it.

“Slag you’re good at this,” Wheeljack whined and reached out to rest a servo on the back of Ratchet’s helm. He petted him gently as his thighs quivered under the amounting pleasure.

 _::Please don’t use our creations’ names while interfacing.::_ Ratchet sent over their private comm link. He looked up at him and their optics met, which sent another jolt of electricity running through them both. Wheeljack appeared vaguely surprised when the message popped up on his HUD.

“Ah, shoulda… shoulda listened to ya about that.” He bit his lower lip plate and keened when the medic sucked at his spike in reply. His hips attempted to buck further into the wet heat of Ratchet’s intake but the medic had too tight of a grip to allow it. His other servo halted in it’s pull on his own spike and instead he moved it down to press a digit against his valve. The opening was already well lubricated but he would still need to stretch it. It had been even longer since he had been taken and he didn’t want to tear anything their first time together. He circled the digit around his opening and shivered once it slid in with little resistance. 

He glanced up again to see Wheeljack was no longer focusing on his faceplate, but the work he was doing to his own interface equipment. The lick of the other’s field was filled with a sort of wonder as he watched the medic work himself open and jumped in ecstasy when another digit was added. Ratchet began thrusting them up into himself and his hips grinded down in response. He nearly stilled on Wheeljack’s spike when the pleasure rippled through his body, moaning around it and easing his hold on the other’s hips. The engineer used this opportunity to take matters into his own servos and began thrusting into Ratchet’s intake at his own pace. The servo on the back of Ratchet’s helm guided him along. Wheeljack was being gentle enough, so Ratchet let him take the lead.

It wasn’t long before he worked himself to an overload like that, and when Ratchet caught that he was close he gave Wheeljack the pleasure of sinking as far down on his spike as he could. It hit the back of his intake and nearly had him choking as he swallowed around it. That was all the engineer could take before the overload consumed him. He let out a wanton yell of ecstasy as his transmission fluid gushed from his spike and spilled down Ratchet’s intake. The medic tried to swallow it down but he had been out of practice too long and he was a coughing mess once he pulled himself off of Wheeljack’s spike. It would have been unpleasant if it weren’t for his digits scissoring his valve open. He had managed to work in three now and while it was a tight fit it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Wheeljack sunk to the ground with a throaty moan. The scrape of metal and rock as he slid against the cave wall grated on Ratchet’s audials as he did so. “That was amazing,” he panted as he locked optics with the medic. He fretted briefly that the younger mech was too spent to continue before he noticed the already repressurising spike between them. Wheeljack must’ve caught the feeling in his field because he smirked in reply. “Not to worry doc, I’m not done yet.” 

Ratchet thumbed over his anterior node just as he said that unfavorable nickname which was a mistake. The pleasure interfered with his vocalizer and spit out static instead of the reprimand he had opened his intake to say. “D-don’t call me _doc_ during, ah, _interface_ ,” he bit out after a moment.

Wheeljack simply chuckled and pulled Ratchet into his lap. His lip plating crushed down on Ratchet’s in a sloppy kiss. Glossas tangled together and their dentae clicked. It wouldn’t have been pleasant under any other circumstance, but in this moment it was _perfect_. So perfect in fact, that it had the medic overloading. He moaned into Wheeljack’s intake as his valve tightened around his digits and flooded with lubricant. It dribbled down his thighs and splashed onto Wheeljack’s lap, coating them both with a slippery blue sheen. Wheeljack let out a lascivious moan at the sight. The smell of ozone pierced the dusty cave and filled their olfactory sensors, triggering heady sighs from both of them.

“Primus why are you so _hot_?” he growled through gritted dentae and buried his face in Ratchet’s neck. He pressed open intaked kisses up and down the cabling and had Ratchet writhing under his touch. Wheeljack’s servo found its way to the medic’s de-pressurized spike and slid up and down it’s length until it was standing at attention again, meanwhile nipping and licking at Ratchet’s neck. The medic was quivering under his touch, arousal swelling in his chassis. Wheeljack was feeling it too if anything the inferno of lust in his field told Ratchet.

“Are you just going to keep sitting there,” Ratchet vented over Wheeljack’s audial after a couple kliks went by like this, “Or are you going to frag me?” His valve was aching for something to take in again now that his digits were gone. Instead they were gouging marks in Wheeljack’s back plating. They both would be in desperate need of a buff after this.

“That is _certainly_ something I can do.” Wheeljack ceased his ministrations on Ratchet’s spike and the medic almost whined in protest when he removed the servo all together. He grabbed at Ratchet’s hip flares and eased back against the wall before guiding him over his spike. Ratchet straddled his hips and planted his servo on Wheeljack’s chest plates while he used the other one to guide the spike between the folds of his valve. He slowly sunk himself down onto Wheeljack and quivered in pleasure as he was stretched around him. Once their hips were flush together, they both paused as Ratchet’s calipers adjusted around the spike to better accommodate it. He trembled as they rippled and contracted around the intrusion. Wheeljack seemed to like it too as the grip on Ratchet’s hip flares tightened. “Frag,” the younger mech choked, “You’re so _tight_.”

Ratchet groaned his agreement as he ground their hips together. He set a leisurely pace at first as Wheeljack relinquished all control to him. Just as the doctor ordered, Ratchet rode him while Wheeljack sat still and reveled in it. Though it certainly seemed like the sitting still part was a struggle for the younger mech as he panted. Occasionally his hips would twitch in what must’ve been a repressed buck. The movement was always noticeable to Ratchet because the jerk would falter his tempo and make him keen. Unfortunately for Wheeljack’s health, and Ratchet’s sanity, that seemed to encourage the other to continue the little jolts. Overwhelming pleasure rocked through him after a particularly rough buck had the engineer’s spike slamming into Ratchet’s ceiling node. The medic yelped and shuddered and his grip on Wheeljack’s chest plating dug grooves in the paint.

“Don’t d-do that, y-you… _ah_ , you’ll hurt yourself…” Ratchet protested but it didn’t seem to phase the other mech as he eagerly tried to replicate the response.

“Sh-shut up, you beautiful piece of aft.” To emphasize his point he slid his servos from where they gripped Ratchet’s hip flares down to squeeze his aft. It had the medic squirming beneath his touch and grinding faster on his spike. “‘S worth it.”

Tired of the other mech’s useless comments, Ratchet captured his derma in another heated kiss. A zing of charge passed through them as their glossas connected in another haphazard mesh of metal and oral lubricants. Their vents and fans were roaring with the effort to keep their frames from overheating as they rocked against each other in abandon. Accompanied with the screech of metal grinding against metal and their wanton moans, the cave was echoing with all sorts of noise. Wheeljack had been right, it would be impossible to do this in any sort of wartime setting without the risk of being noticed.

Not that Ratchet was really thinking about that right now. His processor was more focused on the spike that drove in and out of him at an incessant speed. The modified ridges were certainly a welcome addition as they massaged the walls of his valve with each thrust. He wasn’t entirely sure who was in control at the moment, but he found he didn’t really care. If Wheeljack busted a weld giving him this much pleasure then so be it. He could fix it in the morning, but right not all he wanted was to reach a satisfying climax.

“ _Wheeljack~_ ” Ratchet cried out when his ceiling node was slammed into one last time. It sent him tumbling over the edge and crashing into another overload. His valve spasmed around Wheeljack’s spike, the calipers squeezing it for all it was worth. The engineer released a similar cry of Ratchet’s designation as he followed him over the edge a few moments later, his optics wide and flickering with the charge that surged through them both. Lubricant mixed with the other mech’s transfluid spurt from Ratchet’s valve and spattered all over their thighs once again, leaving them swimming in a mess of translucent blue.

They rode out the last of their charge together before collapsing against Wheeljack and the ground respectively. Their panting and furiously working fans were the only sounds to fill the cave now that they had finished. Fields mixed together and reflected the same contentment and rapidly receding lust.

It took a long while before Ratchet had enough energy to pull himself up off of Wheeljack’s spike. It seemed the younger mech had drifted off into a light recharge up until then, but his optics instantly alighted at the aftershock of pleasure and then sudden cold. He shuddered and retracted his spike back into its housing before snapping his panels closed. Ratchet followed suit as he settled back onto his lap more comfortably.

{xxx~~xxxxx~~xxx}

“That was amazing,” Wheeljack whispered as he nuzzled against Ratchet’s cheek plate.

“You said that already,” Ratchet chuckled, gazing at the younger mech with dimmed optics. He petted his servo along the other’s helm.

“That’s ‘cause it’s _true_.” He circled his arms around Ratchet’s waist and squeezed him affectionately. “Heh, who knew an old bot like you had it in ya.”

“You take that back right now. I’m not old,” the medic protested with a gentle swat.

“Hey, it was a compliment.”

They quickly fell into recharge cuddled up together, both of their face plates plastered with satisfied smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter of the story so far at 4k!! Can't believe it’s all shameless smut...


	9. Leave None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What have we here? An Autobot?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost accidentally deleted this entire chapter and nearly gave myself a heart attack. But here it is! Animal by Troye Sivan goes best with the beginning of the chapter.

When Ratchet onlined his optics the next morning, he expected Wheeljack to still be in recharge, as was the case most days. He was surprised instead to see that the mech was already wide awake and sitting up in his usual spot, sporting their new friend in his servo. He cooed at the small creature and scratched the top of her helm as she devoured an energon gummy that rested in his palm.

“Wha-” Ratchet sat up in a rush, only to still when the engineer gave him a look of warning.

“Shh,” Wheeljack hushed. _::I only just got her here, don’t scare her.::_ he messaged Ratchet over their comm link.

_::We shouldn’t be giving her regular treats. She could become dependent and never learn how to hunt::_

_::It’s just one. Besides, we’ll be leaving soon.::_

Ratchet knew better than to let those few simple but final words get to him. He liked to think of himself as a mech with a certain caliber, and prided himself on his level-headedness when faced with adversity. But he couldn’t help the lurch in his spark as it twisted with discomfort at the thought of parting ways with Wheeljack. Their time together here in this cave, isolated from their wartorn world, he dared to say it had been relaxing.

_::Hey, you alright?::_

Ratchet quickly pulled his thoughts back to the present instead of letting them spiral downwards in the regret of war. He gave Wheeljack a nod before he realized why the mech’s attention had shifted from the cute bolt-bat in his servo to the medic. Their fields were still unscrambled from the events of last night and Wheeljack could sense every ripple of emotion rolling through him as he thought about the days ahead.

_::I’m fine.::_ Ratchet sent back after a moment. The engineer didn’t look convinced.

_::Something you wanna talk about?::_ A wave of solace flowed through the join in their fields and eased the rest of Ratchet’s anxieties away. It filled his chassis with a pleasant tingle and had him leaning into the other mech.

_::Yes, but not right now. How’s our little friend here?::_ Ratchet reached out his servo and pet along her tiny back. She twitched and arched under the touch but made no move to cease in her meal. 

Wheeljack chuckled and shrugged, _::Seems happy enough. By the way, I already named her Gigabyte.::_

_::Why Gigabyte?::_ He lifted an optical ridge at the other mech as he ran his servos over her wings. They were silky smooth under his touch in the way supple, free flowing metal was. He was fascinated by the mechanics of them and was almost tempted to pull on one and fan it all the way out so he could examine it. It always amazed him when mechanimals could fly without the use of jets or propulsion of an alt mode and instead with their natural wings. Wings were merely decorative on most mecha’s root modes.

_::‘Cause of her sharp teeth, but they’re so tiny. Like a gigabyte of data.::_

_::You do realize the prefix giga- means giant, right?::_

_::Do you_ have _to spoil everything?::_ Wheeljack sent a pout of protest his way. Gigabyte it was then. Amusement flashed through Ratchet before he looked down at the mess of himself and Wheeljack in distaste. They were both still covered in the dried fluids of last night’s activities. His vents stalled as memories flooded his processor and he bit his lower lip plate when a rush of arousal passed through him. He didn’t bother looking at Wheeljack to know he felt Ratchet’s reaction; the smugness in his field was telling enough.

He scooted over to his medkit and pulled out mesh towels and a bottle of solvent to scrub himself down with. When he was finished he turned to Wheeljack and moved to clean him off as well. Gigabyte had finished her snack by then and had flown up to the cave’s ceiling just above them. With her tank full she was already falling into recharge. At least now they could talk out loud without worrying about disturbing her.

“I totally broke all your rules last night,” the engineer was the first to speak.

  
  
“Excuse me?” Ratchet quirked an optical ridge as he slid the damp cloth over Wheeljack’s plating in soothing circles. It might have been embarrassing to have his servos all over Wheeljack’s pelvic plating and thighs again but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when there was a special kind of intimate tenderness to be had in cleaning one’s lover.

  
  
“No fragging ‘cause I’m hurt? Been there. No fragging in a cave? Done that. No calling you doc while we frag? Check check _and check_.” Wheeljack burst out laughing as Ratchet smacked him with the soiled cloth. “Hey, I’m wounded!” he hooted in false abashment, “Be gentle with me!”

  
  
“You're incorrigible,” Ratchet grumbled as he scrubbed furiously away at the other mech. A moment later and he was finished. He put the cloth and solvent away and when he turned back to Wheeljack he found the mech staring at him with some sort of resolve. His field reflected his curiosity and prompted the younger mech to speak.

“What… what is this? What _are_ we?”

“What do you mean?” Ratchet was taken aback by the hesitance in the younger mech’s field. He wasn’t hesitant about anything, ever, as far as the medic was aware. He was one of the most audacious personalities Ratchet had come to know.

“Are we… together now?”

“I’m not exactly a one and done kind of mech if that’s what you’re asking.” Ratchet was almost offended by the implication but quickly replaced that with calming comfort when he noticed Wheeljack flinch under it. He’d have to start getting a hang of manipulating his field again if he and Wheeljack were to do this regularly. “I… don’t see why not.”

  
“Am I allowed to tell anyone about us?” he continued, satisfied with that answer. The delighted glee flickering through his field was not lost on Ratchet and it had him smiling in turn, although brief.

  
  
“I’d rather not.” Ratchet winced as the other mech’s face fell. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want others to know about them, it’s just… He was a private mech and he didn’t feel others needed to know. He liked having these special moments alone with Wheeljack. It was comfortable, and that was something that was severely lacking in Ratchet’s life. He felt that if anyone else knew, they would taint it somehow, or worse, use it against them to gain advantage in the war.

It was no secret the Decepticons despised the Autobots’ advantage with the groundbridge and wanted that technology for themselves. They had yet to replicate it and it was probably killing high command at the thought. If they managed to discover their budding relationship and use it against Ratchet… He wouldn’t forgive himself if Wheeljack got hurt because of this tryst.

  
  
“Not even the Wreckers? No one?” he insisted.

  
  
“ _No_.”

  
  
“Why?”

  
  
“They don’t need to know.”

  
  
“You’re shy, I get it.” Wheeljack nodded. Ratchet snorted because that couldn’t be further from the truth. “How ‘bout the Dinobots?"

  
  
“Nobody, Wheeljack.”

  
  
“Too late, they already know I like you. I might’ve talked about you a lot before I realized they could understand what I was saying and talk _back_.” Wheeljack cringed sheepishly at the admission. “Anyways, they’d love it if we told them. We’re their creators after all.”

“Fine.” Ratchet might have been mad, but the discovery that Wheeljack had talked with the Dinobots about him regularly enough that they knew he had been romantically interested in him had his spark clenching with endearment. “But _only_ the Dinobots. It’s dangerous if we tell anyone else.”

Wheeljack beamed back at him and pulled him into his chassis. “You act all tough but you’re just a big softie, aren’t ya?” He nuzzled into Ratchet’s neck and sighed. The warmth from his ex-vents puffing over his sensitive cabling sent shivers down the medic’s spinal struts and he leaned into the touch.

It would have been a serene moment that they could have stayed in forever if it weren’t for the screaming of jet engines that suddenly rocketed through their cave from outside. They both stiffened in surprise and Ratchet vaulted away from Wheeljack and transformed his servos into his dual blades. He could recognize the sounds of those jets anywhere. 

“ _Starscream_ ,” he hissed. Wheeljack lurched to attention as well, his optics wide.

“Follow my lead,” he barked at Ratchet and motioned for him to disengage from combat mode.

“What?” His optics widened incredulously at the younger mech. _He couldn’t be serious?_

“Just trust me on this. And don’t blow my cover.” His optics were pleading and his field surged with reassurance before it was suddenly pulled from Ratchet’s grasp. The medic followed suit and retriggered his own suppressant coding. He hadn’t realized what a comforting tide of warmth Wheeljack’s field had been against him until it was suddenly taken away from him. Now he was left feeling cold and empty, with the firm weight settling back down on his spark.

A transformation sequence echoed outside the cave and the signature sound of the commander’s heelstruts clacking against the ground followed suit. A moment later and Starscream waltzed into the cave, with two other seekers striding beside him.

“Hello there, Sharktide,” the silver mech’s tone bid none of the polite greeting his words suggested, “What have we here? An Autobot?” 

“Commander Starscream.” Wheeljack saluted him and Ratchet reeled at the image. He had never seen Wheeljack salute at his _true_ commanders, and seeing the motion of respect given to Starscream of all mechs made him want to scoff. But he held his glossa and merely glanced between the two of them pensively.

The seeker motioned for him to rest at ease and turned to Ratchet. “An Autobot medic, I see. Is he your prisoner?”

“Yes sir. I found him in Bitrex after my team ran into some scraplets, brought him here and made him heal me.”

“And what were you doing in Bitrex, Autobot?”

“Looking for… resources.” In a real circumstance he probably would have told Starscream to shove Bitrex up his tailpipe, but he needed to keep Wheeljack’s cover and giving an alibi was his best bet.

Starscream’s faceplates finally flickered with recognition upon hearing Ratchet’s voice. It had been hard to tell who he was in the shadows of the cave, but now it was plainly obvious to see.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the Autobots’ _Chief Medical Officer_.” The mockery that rolled off his glossa was infuriating. “Look at you, stuck in a cave with a Decepticon. Aren’t you helpless?” He let out his wretched screech of a laugh and motioned at the other two seekers. “Put him in stasis cuffs, and make sure to disconnect his comm signal.”

“Already done,” Wheeljack snorted, faking insult, “I know how to take prisoners.” Ratchet sent a blip of an S.O.S. to Optimus before he disconnected his own comms. He didn’t want to be stuck with these goons for long.

“And why didn’t you contact us when you were injured?” Starscream turned to Wheeljack, glowering at him. “A search party had given up on finding the rest of your team decacycles ago. You’re lucky we happened to be flying by or we never would have located your signal.”

“No offense to Scalpel or anything but I don’t exactly trust his _‘expertise’_ ,” Wheeljack chuckled.

Starscream snorted but seemed satisfied with the answer. He even nodded in agreement before turning and waving a hand from them to follow him out.

“I’m impressed, Sharktide. Capturing this bot is no small feat. Expect a promotion in the near future.” Once outside the cave where communications would not be interfered with, Starscream pressed a digit to his audial and barked commands at some unseen lackey. “I need a prisoner convoy on my location _now_ ! Tell Lord Megatron I’ve captured Ratchet of the Autobots. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know.” He seemed all too pleased with himself taking credit for someone else’s work. Ratchet snorted, earning a glare from the silver mech. “Is there something amusing about this, _prisoner_?”

“Only your groveling,” Ratchet’s lip plates curled into a sneer.

“Quiet, you! Insolence will not be tolerated!” The backhand across his face plates was unexpected, sending Ratchet’s helm whipping to the side. Wheeljack stiffened in the corner of his optic and the medic made sure to give him a subtle warning glare. He grit his dentae at the sting of three new scratches along his right cheekplate and could feel energon slowly dribble down to his chin. _Curse Starscream and his freakishly sharp claws. How does he manage handling anything with those?_

“Really Starscream, I’m surprised you’d get so defensive. Hitting a _helpless_ _medic_ and all,” the words dripped like acid from Ratchet's lip plates and it seemed to burn the seeker just as intended, “Is everything alright between the two of you?” He resisted the smirk that tempted his lip plates.

“Will someone please shut him up!” Starscream commanded before transforming and rocketing out of the trench. The two seekers exchanged perplexed glances before they did as they were told and plugged an inhibitor into his helm port. He shuddered as coding invaded his processor and shut down his vocalizer.

It was around a cycle before a Decepticon convoy ship reached them. Ratchet recognized him as Astrotrain as he flew down into the trench with them. His bay doors hissed open and Ratchet and Wheeljack stepped aboard along with one of the seekers before he took off again. The medic and engineer exchanged glances as they flew on in silence. This wasn’t how Ratchet’s mission was supposed to end. 

He could only hope Optimus got his message and sent someone to his rescue. It would be incredibly unfortunate if he remained a prisoner of war for long, for everyone involved, not just himself. Maybe he should have been honest with his leader about where he had gone. This could have been avoided if he did.

Optimus probably knew about the Wreckers’ mission undercover seeing as it was such a volatile and secretive operation. Not that Ratchet had known what he was getting himself into at the time. He had been instructed by Wheeljack to tell no one. Perhaps his blind faith in the younger mech was misguided, especially since it had led him here.

As they finally landed, the inhibitor in his port clicked with a new command and suddenly his vision went dark as another rush of coding snapped through his processor. They must have arrived and didn’t want Ratchet to see whatever base they were located at. Fair enough, though it triggered no small amount of terror in the medic if for a moment. A servo gently landed on his forearm to guide him up and off of the ship and Ratchet realized pleasantly that it was Wheeljack.

“I want you to report to Scalpel. Who knows what that Autobot could have secretly done to your coding,” Starscream hissed once they were up and out, “You two can take him to the brig.”

“Yes sir.” Wheeljack’s servo left Ratchet’s arm as he was exchanged between guards. The warmth was quickly replaced with cold, gritty servos that shoved him forwards and sent him stumbling. Ratchet grunted at the lurch in his equilibrium chip and followed begrudgingly alongside the two seekers. 

With his audio receptors still fully functional he strained their volume settings to get a good feel of what was going on around him. Seekers took off and landed repeatedly nearby so there must be an airstrip somewhere.

The secrecy of it all led him to believe that this was an important base, and if he managed to free himself and send Optimus another distress signal who knows what kind of damage could be done if they destroyed it. It was likely where Shockwave’s lab was as well, since Starscream and Wheeljack were here and that’s what Wheeljack had said his mission was supposed to be about. It was near Bitrex too, since the ride in Astrotrain hadn’t been long. A couple cycles at best.

He was thrown into a holding cell kliks later and one of the seekers yanked the inhibitor out of his port. With a painful jolt, Ratchet’s senses burst into awareness sickeningly fast and he had to stumble into and lean on one of the cell’s walls to keep from falling over. He reset his vocoder just to make sure it was fully functional before growling at one of the seekers, “Where am I?”

“Like we’ll tell you,” one of them snapped, the one who wasn’t holding the inhibitor chip. They left the cell with a laugh and slammed the steel door shut.

He frowned in distaste at the stasis cuffs still locked around his wrists. There was no light inside except for whatever filtered through the thin slit of a window on the door. He stepped towards it and peeked out, but saw nothing except the retreating backs of the seekers and an empty narrow hallway with a sliding blast door at the end. He watched as one of the seekers waved his servo over a scanner to unlock and open it. Getting out would not be easy, but it could be done. He moved to sit on the slim slab of berth serving as the only furniture in the cell to ponder his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’s Ratchet gonna get out of this one huh?
> 
> Also who thinks Gigabyte is precious and deserves all the fine things in the world??? I do.


	10. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Excellent_ choice. I look forward to seeing your results, dearest doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was difficult finding a song that fit well here. Since there isn’t a whole lot of Ratchet and Wheeljack interaction I couldn’t pull from my pre-generated playlist of shipping songs for them (because yes that’s a thing I have), I actually had to go searching for the right song. Thus I bring you Bad Machine by Boston Manor. It kind of pulls away from the sound of music I’ve been using for the rest of the story but I thought it was fitting since Big Bad finally makes an appearance. He sort of sets a rift in the tempo Ratchet and Wheeljack have been playing to and the effects will certainly be lasting.

Ratchet’s internal chronometer told him several solar cycles had passed, but it all felt like a blur. The only break in the monotony of staring at his cell walls was every few cycles when a vehicon would drop by and pass him a ration of energon through a small compartment beside the door. It was barely enough for Ratchet’s systems to function and it left him in a drowsy, sluggish state - likely on purpose. He spent most of his time sitting on the berth, pondering between recharges. He hadn’t seen Wheeljack, Starscream, or even the pair of seekers since he was thrown in here. 

The cell itself was lackluster, with drab gray walls scoured in claw marks from previous tenants. He dreaded to imagine what their fate had been. It was small and had a low hanging roof, making even Ratchet, who wasn’t a very large mech to begin with, feel cramped. The thick steel door was the only way in or out and he had no way of opening it from the inside. He wouldn’t be able to tamper with circuitry within the walls either with the stasis cuffs locked around his wrists. For all the gadgets and gizmos he had remaining in his subspace despite their sudden upheaval from the cave, they were useless when he had no way to access them.

It wasn’t until late in the fifth day of being there did he finally receive a visitor. He had been lying on the berth when they arrived, thinking fruitlessly of how to escape. The door slid open with a whoosh and a gust of fresh air hit his vents. He jolted upright and turned to glare at the intruder, only for his optics to cycle wide at who he saw.

“Megatron.” He openly gaped at the towering silver mech and scrambled off the berth once he caught his senses. No one in their right mind would sit prone at his mercy. The warlord leered down at him in return as he stepped inside the cell, having to duck in an almost comical fashion to enter through the doorway. Ratchet didn’t need open fields to read the pleasure he took in the medic’s predicament. It was written clearly all over his face plates.

“Good doctor,” he crooned, “I do apologize for my Second-in-Command’s behavior upon your arrival. This is no way to treat our guests.” He took one lumbering step towards the medic, which easily filled the gap between them, and ran a thumb over the remnants of the cuts Starscream left on his cheek plates. Ratchet jerked away from the touch and glowered up at Megatron, struggling to hold his glossa. “I promise the remainder of your stay will be more comfortable.”

The medic released a short, joyless laugh. “You call a jail cell comfortable?” His tone was filled with malice as he crossed his arms over his chest plates. “The last time I checked _prisoners_ were not the same as _guests_.”

“You would be correct.” Megatron met his challenging stare with cool indifference. “It was not my decision to place you here, I assure you. My apologies for not getting here sooner. I was… preoccupied when Starscream alerted me of your presence.” He inhaled a deep vent as he pulled his shoulders back to stand up as tall as he could manage in the tiny room. “It is rather stuffy in here, isn’t it? Would you care for a stroll?” Without receiving any confirmation from Ratchet, he left the cell and ambled down the hallway to the sealed blast door. 

The medic stared at his retreating back, debating whether or not to follow. It could be a trick after all, giving him a false sense of security with all of this “guest” nonsense. Who was he kidding, of course it was a manipulation ploy. That was all Megatron ever did. Only when the warlord reached the end of the hall and scanned his servo to open the blast doors did Ratchet make his decision. He quickly caught up with the silver mech just as the blast doors swished shut behind them.

“Kind of you to join me, doctor,” Megatron purred, sparing him a jubilante glance. He practically radiated with complacency as Ratchet fell into step beside him. It irked the medic to no end that he thought him predictable, and he made that known in his mocking scoff.

“What do you really want from me, Megatron?” he spat.

“In due time, dearest. Have patience.”

They meandered down a maze of hallways, passing by a copious amount of Decepticons as they went. Ratchet ignored their snickers and leers in favor of mapping out the base in his processor. He couldn’t exactly tell what each door they passed led to, so the information was virtually useless, but at least it was better than only knowing the four corners of his cell. It was unlikely Megatron would walk him anywhere near important rooms like the command center, or better yet, a way out. They were probably circling the dead center of the building in some disorienting pattern. Megatron would know exactly what Ratchet was doing in their silence.

Nearly forty kliks went by as they strolled along until they passed through a set of sliding doors engraved with a massive Decepticon insignia. Ratchet nearly snorted at the vanity of it, especially when he realized he had entered a berthroom. It was comfortably furnished as well, with two plush chairs and a small table in one corner, and a padded berth in another. A holoscreen was mounted on the wall that flashed between images of Cybertron’s untainted scenery. There was a door to the left of the berth that led to what Ratchet imagined was a private wash rack.

“Who’s room is this?” He watched cautiously as Megatron stopped beside the table and poured two cubes of vibrant bluish-indigo energon from a glass tankard. As far as Ratchet could tell from his rooted position at the door it was a multi-distilled, purified high grade. Very classy, _very_ hard to get nowadays. His intake lubricated at the thought of its likely exquisite taste and it pained him to see such a treasure in the servos of the worst mech on the face of the planet.

“Take a guess,” Megatron offered, unaware of Ratchet’s pains.

“Yours?”

The former gladiator’s face faltered in its dissemble of equanimity for the briefest of moments, amusement and a mix of something else passing over his features, before he quickly flipped it back into his usual leer.

“No,” he stated simply, “It’s yours.”

It was Ratchet’s turn to be surprised. “What, why?”

“I hate to repeat myself, doctor. If you’ve been paying attention you would know why.”

“Because you want me to be _comfortable?_ You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you? Stop playing games with me, Megatron. What do you want from me?”

The silver mech rolled his optics and sighed. “You can’t make this easy for yourself, can you? Always with the incessant questions.” He took a thoughtful sip from his cube before sitting down in one of the chairs. “Will you sit and drink with me? We may discuss the circumstances of your stay here at length, but first you must… _indulge_ me.”

He motioned a massive servo towards the seat opposite of him and Ratchet reluctantly did as he was told. He refused the highgrade however, giving it a pained look. Given any other circumstance he would have dived right in, but the fact that it was _Megatron_ who offered it to him made it unforgivable to partake. Not when thousands of innocent mechs had died at the same claws that held his cube so delicately.

“I promise it’s not poisoned.” Megatron seemed to read his mind as he sipped from the cube. Ratchet figured as much seeing as they were drinking from the same original tankard. “That would be a waste of Upper Vosnian Iridescence.”

“Perhaps not… but how do you expect me to drink it with these on?” He brought his cuffed servos into view above the table and sent a challenging glare towards Megatron.

“Ah, I seem to have forgotten. Apologies.” A second later and the cuffs snapped off his wrists and fell to the ground with a thud. They were remote controlled then. _Smart._ Megatron must have commed whoever was in control of the locking mechanism. “Now will you drink?”

“ _No._ ” But Primus did he want to. It was almost a crime to leave the cube poured for him untouched. Upper Vosnians were once known for their lavish tastes before the war all but obliterated the economic classes, and he was positive their highgrade was no different. He had never tried something of this quality, even in his time in Upper Iacon.

“I suppose we aren’t here to enjoy each other’s company, then, hmm? Business as usual.” Once his cube was free of high grade, Megatron set it back down on the table before he folded his servos in his lap and eased back in the chair. He gave Ratchet’s frame a deliberately slow once over and it took all the medic had not to squirm beneath the unabating gaze. “Let’s start with you telling me what you think I want. We can go from there.”

“I have no idea,” Ratchet retorted, “Your agenda tends to sway with your mood, which changes pretty rapidly, so that makes it impossible to keep up with you.”

“I did not bring you from your confinement and treat you with my finest energon only to be insulted.”

“What do you want me to do, get on my knees and thank you for releasing me from a cell _your_ mechs put me in?” Ratchet barked back imputently. Megatron had the gall to frown. This only made Ratchet all the more enraged. “I told you, I’m done with these games! Tell me what you want from me before I take _myself_ back to that cell!” He shot up from his seat and slammed a servo down on the table, sending the glass tankard flying off the surface and shattering over the floor.

The shimmering liquid spattered all across the floor and wall, and even a bit on their pedes, completely useless now unless one wanted to lick it up off the floor. Megatron’s eyes flashed with rage but he demonstrated a great amount of control, choosing his next words carefully. 

“Very well, if that is how you wish to play things,” he ground out, rising to his pedes to tower over the furious medic. Ratchet refused to back down despite every circuit in his frame screaming at him to flee. “What I want is for you to build me a groundbridge. Cooperate and things may remain _civilized_ if you please.”

Ratchet returned the menacing stare with a defiant look of his own. “Do you really think I’m going to roll on my back and give you the one thing Autobots have an advantage over in this war? I can’t be bought with fancy drinks and nice quarters. You can shove those things up your aft for all I care. And you’ll be getting those plans over my _cold, sparkless husk._ ” He enunciated each word with a jab of his digit towards Megatron’s chest plates. He didn’t quite touch the silver plating but he was nearly close to it, leaning forward over the table to get in the other mech’s personal space. Any other would have thought it was suicide to speak to the warlord like this, but Ratchet knew he was needed. Megatron wouldn’t kill him, not yet at least. Once he got what he wanted, however… 

“I was afraid that’s what you’d say,” Megatron sighed as if Ratchet’s response was unwarranted and served only as an inconvenience.

“So then what was all this pandering for? You’ll kill me anyways, even after I’ve given you the groundbridge.”

“Let it be said that you had the option of a peaceful arrangement. You will not be pleased with what I have prepared to persuade you with next.” Megatron stood and motioned for Ratchet to follow him as he walked out of the berthroom once more.

“What in the Pits does that mean? I’m already not happy about _any_ of this!” he exclaimed as he followed the silver mech out. A pang of unease shot through him as Megatron stalked forward in silence with his shoulders drawn back and servos clasped behind him. It was an authoritative pose, one that demanded respect and attention. Ratchet knew it often preceded some sort of reprimand or punishment Megatron derived great pleasure from delivering and that’s what had him worrying. They stopped before another sliding door after a while and the Decepticon leader paused.

“I’ll give you one more chance. Will you cooperate in building me a groundbridge peacefully? There will be no consequences if you say yes. I might even let you go if I’m feeling generous upon your completion.”

“Like the Pits I will,” Ratchet bit back. Megatron almost looked disappointed as he pressed his servo to the scanner and the door clicked open. He was about to ask what the big idea was but he cut himself off when Megatron stepped through the sliding door and revealed what was inside. His spark leaped into his intake and his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He froze in the doorway and stared with wide open optics at the scene before him.

The room was brightly lit just so Ratchet could see every detail of the mechs before him. The state of their bodies, hanging limply from stasis cuffs attached to the wall. They seemed unharmed, but each one sported a look of complete and utter devastation that they might as well have been beaten into submission.

“I trust you know of these treacherous Autobot spies?” Megatron hissed as he stalked further into the room. He glowered at their unmoving forms and received several in return.

“I-I don’t know who these mecha are,” he stuttered. And that was true of most of them. All except the only mech who’s attention was not on Megatron, but himself.

“Oh really? Not even this one?” Megatron stretched his servo out to grab that very mech and jerked his jaw up to stare him in the optics. He pinched it with his devastatingly sharp claws and caused the other to flinch in pain. A sadistic smile flickered over the warlord’s derma as he watched Ratchet twitch from the corner of his optic. “Sharktide here was the one who brought you to me after all. Or should I say _Wheeljack?_ ” He let out a short, snide chuckle. “A rather grand miscalculation on his part, and for that I am so very grateful.”

“ _Frag you_ ,” Wheeljack hissed, spitting oral lubricant at the warlord. It joined the mess of highgrade spattered across his shins and pedes. Megatron growled as he released his hold on Wheeljack’s helm roughly, but made no further attempt to harm him in favor of turning to Ratchet.

“Tell me, will you help me build a groundbridge _now? _If you do, I’ll let them go free, unharmed.”__

__“Don’t do it!” the big green one to the right of Wheeljack cried out, pulling on his restraints. The cuffs groaned beneath the stress of the massive mech’s strength, but did not budge._ _

__“We’re ready to sacrifice ourselves for the Autobot cause,” the orange one across the room concurred with a growl._ _

__“Seems they’re willing to die for you. _How touching_ ,” Megatron crooned in false endearment. “And what have you to say, good doctor?”_ _

__Ratchet said nothing as he stared helplessly at the mechs before him. These must’ve been Wheeljack’s Wreckers. Somehow they were discovered, but that wasn’t Ratchet’s biggest worry. He stared imploringly at them as his processor struggled to find a solution._ _

__“I grow bored with your puttering. Let’s speed things up, shall we?” Megatron raised his massive fusion canon up to Wheeljack’s chest plates._ _

__“ _No!_ ” Ratchet wailed before he’d even realized he said anything. Megatron perked up in surprise at this but made no move to drop his arm. Instead he charged up his canon and it glowed with the purple fury of an oncoming blast. Before Ratchet could even think about what he was doing he launched himself forward with a cry and wrestled the canon away from Wheeljack. It fired into the wall instead and left a warped, sizzling hole in the metal in its wake. “I’ll do it! Just let him- _them_ go!” he pleaded, voice breaking with the blind terror he felt. _ _

__“ _Excellent_ choice,” Megatron all but purred as he slid his arm from the medic’s trembling grip. “I look forward to seeing your results, dearest doctor.”_ _

__As Ratchet watched his frame retreat from the room he realized he had played right into the warlord’s awaiting servos. That Megatron knew he’d react in such a way and planned the entire thing accordingly, from the second he entered the cell up until the moment he held Wheeljack in his fire sights. And Ratchet had gone along almost willingly. One look at the other mech’s concerned visage told him exactly why. It had the medic’s spark recoiling in unabidden despair, and that time there was no warm field against his to comfort him._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ending tho! I’m honestly dying, I can’t. I just love the evil mastermind that is Megatron. He is constantly ten steps ahead of the Autobots and it brings me no small amount of joy how manipulative he is (weird, right?). I know I say this a lot, but _this_ is my favorite chapter so far. It's so fun, I giggled to myself the entire time editing it.
> 
> Did anybody catch the cameos? Of course you did, they’re pretty obvious. Bulkhead is the green Wrecker, and in case you were wondering, Seaspray is the orange. Now how exactly were they found out? Stay tuned to learn more ;)


End file.
